


The Love That Grows From Violence

by queenofkadara



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (I'M MOSTLY LAUGHING AT MYSELF BY ADDING THE FOOD/COOKING TAGS), A HAPPY ENDING FOR ONCE!!, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort Food, Conversations, Conversations and fucking, Cooking, Dragon Age Lore, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I think this is just my hallmark now, Post-Trespasser, Smut, a lot of conversations, curing tranquility, sexual healing, tevinter nights spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 181,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Felassan smirked. “Laughter doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?”Tamaris Lavellan gave him a deeply skeptical look. For someone who was Tranquil until very recently, he certainly was lighthearted. “Are you living in the same world as I am? What the fuck is there to laugh about?”He shrugged. “I suppose that depends on where you find humour.”Shetsked. “If you’re looking for someone to laugh with, you’ve come to the wrong house.”“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I have.”**************************In other words: it is canon that people who are killed in the Fade become Tranquil in the real world. What if Solas didn’t kill Felassan after all at the end ofThe Masked Empire? Patrick and Karin Weekes said inthis interviewthat if enough people care what happened to Felassan, he could come back…Thus we begin my contribution to the Save Felassan Campaign, in the only way I know how: a smutty romance fic.
Relationships: Felassan/Female Lavellan, Felassan/Lavellan (Dragon Age), references to past Solas/Lavellan
Comments: 1080
Kudos: 161





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, a few notes before we get started — but you can just skip straight to the fic if you don’t want to read my rambling, LOL.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to [@whatomen,](https://whatomen.tumblr.com/) who messaged me randomly one day and was like “BUT WHAT IF FELASSAN WAS TRANQUIL AND NOT ACTUALLY DEAD” and thus gave me the seed for this fic. Whatomen, you are a gem. THANK YOU. 
> 
> This fic is, in essence, a quarantine fic. 😂 99% of it takes place in a mansion in Hightown, so if you're looking for an adventure-based story, that is not this. If, however, you want to read about Felassan and a very tired ex-Inquisitor sitting in a mansion talking and smoking and eventually fucking, then you’re in the right place. Forgive me.
> 
> Last plug: I have written a bit of Felassan already – a smutty foursome fic for my beloved friend [@elbenherzart](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/), where Solas, Abelas, and Felassan treat her Inquisitor Nare Lavellan like the queen that she is. The fic is [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396210) if that interests you.
> 
> With no further ado, here we go.

Felassan leaned down and plucked a small plant whose wet leaves hung limp in the rain. “There’s a small flower that grows in this part of the forest. If left to bloom and die on its own, it stays small and inconsequential, but if it is uprooted, a whole host of flowers will sprout from the area where it was torn.” He rubbed the leaves between his fingers. “I have always loved the idea of life that could only grow from violence.” 

\- _The Masked Empire_ , by Patrick Weekes

********************************

**Somewhere in the Hunterhorn Mountains, nine months after the Exalted Council…**

Cassandra inspected the set-up of the room with a critical eye. Everything seemed to be in order.

Rhys had set protective wards and lit a veilfire torch to facilitate the crossing of a spirit. The affable dark-haired mage was standing near the veilfire torch, ready to help broker the connection between the Tranquil and the spirit. When the newly-restored Tranquil’s emotions came flooding back, Rhys and Minaeve would be ready to comfort them, and a healer was on-call as well if sedation was needed. On the other side of the ward circle, Ser Evangeline was standing ready as well, in the dire – and as yet unneeded – case that her Templar abilities were required.

Everything was ready to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. Satisfied, Cassandra turned and gestured to Minaeve, who was standing outside the door with the Tranquil by her side. “Come in,” she called.

Minaeve smiled up at her Tranquil companion, then led him into the room with one hand on his elbow. Cassandra nodded her thanks to Minaeve, then turned to face the Tranquil, whose gaze was lowered in a deferential manner. He was a tall elven man wearing a Fereldan commoner’s garb, but his face was mostly obscured by a fine hooded cloak that looked unmistakably Dalish. 

Cassandra frowned. _That is strange,_ she thought. This was the first Dalish Tranquil she’d ever met. 

She glanced at Minaeve. “I did not realize that the Dalish made their mages Tranquil.”

Minaeve opened her mouth to reply, but the Tranquil replied in her stead. “I am not Dalish.” 

Cassandra looked at him in surprise. Despite his oversized hood, she could swear she saw Dalish tattoos on his cheeks. But then again, the elves at the Temple of Mythal had tattoos on their faces as well, and they were not Dalish.

“Remove your hood, please?” she asked.

Without lifting his eyes, the Tranquil pushed his hood back, and Cassandra’s confusion deepened. His long black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, revealing a forehead and cheekbones adorned with a branching pattern of ink that was distinctly elven. 

What truly perplexed her, however, was the lack of a lyrium brand on his forehead. 

Cassandra looked at Minaeve in alarm. “Are we certain he is Tranquil? There is no mark.”

Rhys frowned curiously and came to join them, but Minaeve nodded. “I’ve been around the Tranquil my whole life, Lady Pentaghast. He’s definitely one of them.”

“That is odd, though,” Rhys said. He peered at the Tranquil’s forehead, then leaned back and stroked his neat goatee. “No sunburst scar. That’s… I’ve never seen that before.” He glanced askance at Evangeline, who shook her head in confirmation. 

Cassandra frowned, then lifted her shoulders. “If you are certain that he is Tranquil, then I see no reason why we should not proceed.”

Rhys nodded. “We’re all here, aren’t we? The veilfire is burning. We might as well.”

Cassandra smiled faintly at his casual response, then turned back to the Tranquil and studied him curiously for another moment. She could see now why Varric had insisted on secrecy in their treatment of this Tranquil, and she was quite interested now in hearing the Tranquil’s tale — once he’d had time to recuperate after the cure, of course. At this point, all she knew was the limited information that Varric had been able to pass to her in his heavily coded notes: that their Tranquil guest had been found living in Carta hideout, of all the unusual places, and that his discovery was a matter of sheer luck born from an unexpected meeting between one of the former Inquisition’s spies and a contact of Bianca Davri’s.

 _On with it, then,_ Cassandra thought. With no further delay, she launched into the speech she had prepared for these occasions. “We would like to reverse the Rite of Tranquility that severed you from your magical abilities and your emotions,” she said. “This may mean that you will become dangerous and lose control of your magic. If that should happen, we may need to sedate you. If the danger is too great, our Templar colleague may need to strike you down. Do you understand these risks?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you agree to the reversal of Tranquility, despite these risks?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said again.

Cassandra nodded, then realized that she had forgotten something. She’d been so preoccupied with this elven Tranquil’s peculiarities that she’d forgotten to introduce herself.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I should have said before: I am Cassandra Pentaghast. What is your name?”

He finally lifted his eyes to her face, and Cassandra’s own eyes widened in surprise. The Tranquil’s irises were a bright and unusual violet hue.

“My name is Felassan,” he said. “In the old tongue, it means ‘slow arrow’.” He tilted his head. “I thought it was funny, once. I don’t know why.”


	2. Look Up

**Kirkwall, three months later...**

Varric handed Tamaris a set of keys. “All right, here it is. Home sweet home.”

Tamaris stared blankly at the mansion. It was… frankly, it was huge. And fancy. Two gold-plated Orlesian lion statuettes flanked the front door, which was carved with an elaborate pattern of _fleur-de-lis_. The windows were made of elaborate stained glass that would make a Chantry sister envious, and she was fairly certain that the front door handle was made of gold. The outdoor fixtures alone must have cost a fortune, and she hadn’t even seen the interior of the house yet. 

She shot Varric an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours. Your name is on the deed and everything.” He folded his arms. “I’ve kind of been waiting to see your face when you saw it.” 

“Well, I hope my total sense of bemusement isn’t a disappointment,” she said. Honestly, she didn’t know how Varric expected her to live in this place. She was used to aravels and tents, for fuck’s sake. Moving to Skyhold had been a stretch for her, and Skyhold at least was a functional fortress as well as being a huge grand castle.

This mansion, on the other hand, looked totally frivolous. Tamaris could only hope that it was less gaudy on the inside than the outside. 

She hefted her travelling pack onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. She took one step into the house and stopped dead in disbelief. 

The floor was shiny rose marble with gold veins, and the wallpaper was cream silk with gold stripes. As Tamaris slowly made her way through the foyer into the main room, she wrinkled her nose; the fireplace, the staircase bannister, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling: all of it was gold.

She unceremoniously dropped her pack on the floor. “Varric, you’re not serious,” she complained. 

He laughed again. “Trust me, Cuddles, this is restrained for an Orlesian mansion in Hightown. Orlesians who settle here think they need to remind us that they’re not _from_ here. As if we could ever forget.” He patted the fireplace. “Don’t worry, you can get it all redone. Tear out the floors, maybe put in some sod so you can pretend you’re in a forest or something?”

Tamaris snorted. “Should I set up a ritual circle too, for the evil Dalish child sacrifices that I perform every other week?”

“You could,” Varric said wryly. “Just don’t tell our Captain of the Guard. She tends to get a little antsy about blood magic here. Well, we all do, really.”

Tamaris looked at him. He was smiling, but it only now just occurred to her how she must sound. 

She sighed. “Varric, I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful bitch. This is… I mean, you gave me a fucking house. This is really nice of you. Even if it’s the gaudiest house in Thedas.”

He snorted a laugh, and Tamaris gave him a rare smile. “I mean it. This is really kind. Thank you.” 

He waved her off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m used to moody elves, remember?” 

“Right, right,” Tamaris said dryly. “Hawke’s husband and all that. Hey, you said her mansion was in Hightown too, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Her uncle lives in it now, though. Hawke is off hunting slavers with Fenris or whatever it is that he’s doing.” 

Tamaris nodded in acknowledgement, then looked idly around at the vaulted ceilings. Shit, this house was _big_. And empty. 

Oh, there was furniture, sure: a big ugly carved dining table with matching chairs and a writing desk in this room, and some plush velvet sofas in the study to the left. But the house still felt so… empty. It was going to be so quiet living here all by herself. After spending the better part of the year doing contract work with Bull and the Chargers, Tamaris couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the impending quiet. 

“So,” Varric said. “Do you want to hear the updates on the wolf hunt now, or do you want to settle in first?”

 _Solas._ Her gut twisted unpleasantly, like the feeling of stepping into a pothole that you didn’t realize was there. 

“Sure, let’s hear it,” she said. She rifled around in her bag with her mechanical left hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Rivaini rum. “Fancy a drink?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll wait until it’s past noon.”

She shrugged and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Suit yourself.” She took three big gulps, then shoved the cork back into the bottle and plopped down in one of the padded dining chairs. “All right, let’s hear it. I don’t suppose we’ve actually been lucky enough to find him.”

“Not yet,” Varric said. “A couple interesting leads, though. You actually got back just in time. Rhys and Evangeline are on their way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Should be arriving in the next day or two.”

Tamaris blinked. “Rhys and Evangeline? But I thought Cassandra needed them.”

“She does,” Varric said. “Their work at the Tranquil sanctuary has been going pretty smoothly so far. But they recently had someone staying with them who, uh, might be interesting for you to meet.”

 _That’s cryptic,_ Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.” 

Varric leaned casually against the fireplace. “An elf with Dalish tattoos,” he said. “Only he says he isn’t Dalish. And he says he knows Solas.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, from… _before._ ”

Tamaris’s eyebrows shot up. Then she folded her arms. “Uh-huh. And we _don’t_ think he’s full of shit because…?”

“Tranquil don’t lie,” Varric said. “He told Cassandra about Solas before they reversed his Tranquility.” 

Tamaris narrowed her eyes appraisingly. Then she straightened. “Hang on. You said… Are Rhys and Evangeline are bringing him _here?_ ”

Varric nodded, and Tamaris stared at him. “Varric, that’s insane. Solas definitely has spies in Kirkwall. This is the last place in Thedas that someone who knew Solas from _before_ should be coming.” 

Varric grimaced. “Well… Cassandra wanted you to go to the sanctuary instead. But we, uh, had some trouble getting in touch with you…”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead guiltily. Going off to mindlessly do a bunch of contracts with Bull and his company had been a selfish move, and Tamaris knew it. But the whole Exalted Council incident had been just… so much fucking _bullshit_ , with the qunari attack and the Shattered Library and the crossroads and Solas. 

Fucking Solas. Fucking Fen’Harel. 

A year later, the truth still chafed. Tamaris had always known there were things he wasn’t telling her, and it had always grated at her nerves. Even during the moments when he was at his sweetest, it had always felt like there was some undercurrent of subtext behind his affectionate words. But Tamaris had never imagined that his lies were so spectacular.

 _Only by omission_ , he’d said, but in Tamaris’s opinion, that only made it worse. That he’d been so careful to omit things — so careful to stick to the truth without telling the most important parts of it…

She could feel her ears getting hot with anger. Varric stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “Rhys and Evangeline are used to travelling incognito, and apparently the mystery elf is too. No reason to think they won’t make it here safe and sound.”

She took another gulp of rum, then placed the bottle back on the table. “Fine. A mysterious former friend of Solas’s is coming to pay me a visit. Anything else?”

Varric eyed her warily, then sat in a chair beside her. “How about a hand of wicked grace?”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t have to coddle me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Varric said. “I’m trying to avoid Bran, really. You’re doing me a favour by showing up here so early in the day.” He pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and began shuffling them. 

She scoffed and propped her dirty bare feet up on the pristine table. “All right, since I’m doing _you_ a favour.” They played wicked grace for a couple of hours, and by the time Varric finally got up to leave, Tamaris was nicely buzzed. 

She lazily followed Varric to the door. “Can I swing by your office later? See how tightly the Viscount of Kirkwall runs his ship?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He opened the door and smirked up at her. “Or tomorrow, or whenever.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were ashamed of my drunken ass.”

“Not ashamed,” Varric said. “Just a little concerned, that’s all.”

She shrugged. There was no point denying that she wasn’t _really_ okay. “I’m probably not the most stabilizing influence for a newly de-Tranquilized mage at the moment,” she said baldly.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Varric said. “You’ll be good for him, probably. You’ve got a knack for this kind of thing.”

“What, dealing with hysterical people?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said. 

Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Lucky me.”

“Let me know if you want to talk,” Varric said casually. “That’s all I’m saying.”

She shrugged again. “I probably won’t,” she replied. “If you want to hit me with a stick Bull-style, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “Hey, I should have asked — this arm’s doing okay by you, huh?” He tapped her mechanical arm. 

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said. “The lyrium powers it perfectly.” She flexed her arm and fingers to demonstrate. “I wrote Dagna a couple months ago to thank her, but you should let Bianca know it works almost as well as my real hand.”

Varric smiled. “I will. See you later.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Hey, I should have said. It’s, uh. It’s good to have you back.”

Tamaris managed a smile. “Thanks. It’s… well, it’s good to see you.”

He nodded understandingly, then gave her a little salute before taking his leave. Tamaris tottered back inside of her gaudy house, then toppled onto one of the big fat couches and fell fast asleep. 

When she woke up a few hours later, it was with a raging headache, a stomach cramping from hunger, and a very dry mouth. She gulped down some water, then strapped a couple of daggers to her belt and put on her cloak. She pulled up the hood — more to shelter her pounding eyes from the lingering rays of the early evening sun than to hide her identity. She didn’t much care if anyone knew she was in Kirkwall, especially since she’d been out of the loop all this time and had no interesting contacts here aside from Varric. If Solas’s spies wanted to give him the useless information that she was here, they could fucking feel free. 

Even so, she wasn’t particularly keen to be spoken to. So instead of leaving through the front door, she made her way up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left. 

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively when she opened the door; the bedroom decor was a Free Marcher style instead of Orlesian, and way more simple and plain than the rest of the house. Varric must have set this bedroom up just for her. 

She smiled faintly, then headed for the window and pushed it open. After a careful peek into the alley to discern that no one was looking, she slipped out of the window and quickly climbed up the brick wall to the roof. 

Once she was on the roof, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air was fresher up here, and the openness of the sky was frankly a relief. From up here, she could clearly see the shifting shades of the sky as the sun started to set, and she could almost pretend that she was on the shores of Hercinia admiring the sky instead of on the roof of a noisy city.

She drew another deep lungful of air, then began making her way to the Lowtown market via the rooftops. She made it to the market unnoticed and bought herself enough food for three days, then returned to her house using back alleys so no one would talk to her, and the furtive journey was challenging enough with the added weight of her bags to distract her from her headache. 

Once she’d returned to her house, she immediately went back up to the roof with her indulgent supper of fish and chips. She spent the next little while on the roof watching the sun sink down behind the squat buildings of Lowtown. When it started getting dark and her thoughts started darkening to match, she moved over to the edge of the roof so she could watch the people below instead of the sky above. 

She dangled her feet carelessly over the edge of the roof; no one ever looked up, so no one would see her anyway. She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a slender joint and a matchbook, then lit the joint and took a deep drag. 

The sweet-and-bitter smoke filled her mouth, and she held it for a few leisurely seconds before releasing it to the cool evening air. And as usual in the evenings when she had nothing else to do, she started mulling over her mistakes and failings of the past. 

First and foremost, as always, was Solas. Was there anything she could have done to stop him when they’d been together? Should she have realized sooner that he was from an earlier age? Solas wasn't the only concern, though; the news about the qunari’s activities on the Tevinter coastline were frankly alarming, and Tamaris couldn't help but wonder if she should have foreseen that as well. She and her companions might have stopped the Viddasala from killing the leadership of Thedas during the Exalted Council a year ago, but had they really achieved anything if the qunari were attacking Tevinter so aggressively now? 

Another huge concern was where the fuck the Grey Wardens were. Tamaris had thought she was doing the right thing by sending them to Weisshaupt until Corypheus was gone, but there had been no word of them since then, and their silence made her wonder whether sending them away had been a good idea after all. Solas certainly approved of her action, but in truth, Tamaris had never been clear on exactly _why_ he’d approved. Even now, after what he’d told her about the Evanuris and the Veil, she still didn’t understand why he got so irate about the Grey Wardens.

 _Solas_ , she thought moodily. Her thoughts cycled back to wondering if she should have foreseen his betrayal during the time that they’d been lovers. She smoked her joint slowly and mulled over her gloomy thoughts, and all the while she was watching the streets below for anything strange. 

It wasn’t until late that night that something caught her eye: a pair of figures, one tall and slim and the other shorter and a bit more broad. They were cloaked and moving quietly along Hightown’s largely silent streets, but not sticking to the shadows. 

_Humans,_ she thought. Only humans walked around at night with that much confidence. But these humans were being quiet and subtle, so they didn’t want to be noticed. 

She peered more carefully at them, and that’s when she noticed the signature style of the shorter figure’s gauntlets. _A Templar,_ she thought, and she relaxed slightly. It must be Rhys and Evangeline. But where was their former Tranquil companion, then? 

She narrowed her eyes and scanned the streets; no one else was around. Curious now, Tamaris waited until the two cloaked people were closer – not so close that they were under her, but close enough that they could hear her. 

She let out a low whistle, and the cloaked figures looked up sharply; sure enough, it was Rhys and Evangeline. 

Rhys smiled at her, and Evangeline visibly relaxed. “Lady Lavellan,” she called out quietly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Skulking, obviously,” Tamaris replied. “Nobody ever looks up.”

“You’re right,” a man’s voice said behind her. “They don’t.” 

Tamaris was on her feet with a dagger in hand before he finished speaking. But even before she could turn around to face him, a spill of goosebumps was rippling down her neck. The voice was unfamiliar to her, but the accent… 

It was like Solas’s accent. Not exactly the same, but close enough to Solas’s smooth lilt that it gave her a chill of recognition.

 _The former Tranquil,_ she thought tensely. She eyed the stranger in silence for a moment. He was a tall elf, barefoot and cloaked and apparently unarmed, and he was leaning languidly against one of the chimneys with a smirk lifting the corners of his lips. 

“It’s all right,” Rhys called from the ground below. “He’s with us.”

“You don’t say,” Tamaris retorted. 

The former Tranquil’s smirk widened slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow before restoring her dagger to the sheath at her hip. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I’ve decided not to gut you on the spot for sneaking up on me.”

“Very gracious of you,” he said with a little half-bow. 

She eyed him suspiciously. His words were polite enough, but his tone was faintly mocking. 

She pursed her lips, then started toward the side of the roof that led back to the bedroom window. “Come on, then,” she said to the strange elf. “If you’re bringing trouble to my doorstep, I might as well roll with it.” She swung down from the edge of the roof and back into the window, then made her way through the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following her.

He was, of course; if he was nimble enough to sneak up on her via the roof, he was nimble enough to follow her back through the window. He chuckled as he followed her out of the bedroom. “And what a doorstep it is,” he said. “A fan of gold, are you?”

She scoffed and traipsed down the stairs. “Hardly. This house was a gift from a dwarf with an overdeveloped sense of humour.” 

“My kind of dwarf,” the elf said.

She shot him an odd look, then paused in surprise at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just realized something odd about his appearance. He had _vallaslin_ branching across his cheekbones and his forehead, but it wasn’t the marks on his face that surprised her per se; it was the _lack_ of a particular kind of mark. 

He didn’t have a scar on his forehead from the Templars’ lyrium brand. But Varric had said he was a Tranquil…? 

He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Let me just…” She nodded at the front door, then went to open it for Evangeline and Rhys.

She stood back to let them in, then gestured at the dining table with its padded chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but we should get going,” Rhys said. 

“Yes,” Evangeline agreed. “We don’t want to linger in Kirkwall for too long. And Lady Cassandra requires our services.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “But — wait, you just got here. I don’t think Cassandra would begrudge you a night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Evangeline said. “But we are anxious to return to our duties as well. For now, Rhys remains the only mage at the sanctuary who can safely guide the spirits through the Veil. We can’t cure any more Tranquil until he has returned.”

Rhys let out a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m hardly the fulcrum of this whole operation,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be so modest, _cher_ ,” Evangeline said firmly. “In any case, we should be going.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “Hang on. You’re not going to explain anything to me before you go? For example: who the fuck is he, exactly?” She jerked her thumb at the raven-haired elf, who had availed himself of one of the dining table chairs.

He gave her a charming smile. “I was wondering when you’d remember I was here. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. There’s something quite powerful about being forgotten, under the right circumstances.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at this cryptic remark, and Rhys smacked his forehead. “Maker, I’m sorry, Tamaris. This is Felassan. He came from — well, the whole story will probably be more coherent if you hear it from him, which is why we accompanied him here, obviously.”

She eyed Rhys skeptically. “And his whole story is good enough that you’re willing to leave him with me, even though he’s only been cured for…” She trailed off, then turned to Felassan. “How long have you been, um, back to yourself?”

He looked at Rhys. “It’s been, what? Three months?”

“That’s right,” Rhys said. “About three months.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “It only takes three months for former Tranquil to become stable?”

“Oh, I’m not stable,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I can be quite volatile, unfortunately.”

Tamaris stared at him. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. 

Evangeline answered her unspoken question. “That’s true, unfortunately. Felassan is still getting… adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Tamaris said warily. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” Felassan said, “that she had to neutralize me several times during our journey here. Not that I hold it against you,” he said pleasantly to Evangeline. “It’s been interesting, in fact. I never had a chance to see a Templar in action before.”

Evangeline nodded politely to him, but Tamaris wrinkled her nose in confusion. How was that possible? He’d been made Tranquil. He had to have seen a Templar in action before. 

She didn’t have time to ask, however; Rhys and Evangeline were already making their way back to the door. She hurried after them. “So — so he’s… he’s supposed to just stay here with me, then.”

“That’s what Cassandra wanted, yes,” Rhys said.

Tamaris sighed. At least Rhys had the courtesy to sound apologetic. “And if he gets volatile? I suppose she was confident that I could just… handle it.”

“She was very confident,” Evangeline said. 

Rhys smiled faintly. “I believe her words were something along the lines of ‘Tamaris has a special talent for highly charged situations such as this.’”

“Of course," she muttered. "Well… I suppose I should thank you for bringing him here.”

“I think it will be worth your while, once you hear what he has to say,” Rhys said earnestly. “There’s a good reason we didn’t just send you a report.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “If you say so. Well, travel safe.”

Rhys gave her a little salute and Evangeline bowed her head politely, and they took their leave. Tamaris sighed, then locked the door and returned to the dining table.

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his chair and idly twirling a short length of wood in his fingers. Tamaris folded her arms and eyed him. “It sounds like I’m in for a good story, hm? Or a long one, at least.”

He quirked a brow. “I suppose that depends. Do you enjoy hearing tales of Fen’Harel?”

 _Fen’Harel. Fucking Solas,_ she thought bitterly. “I enjoy it as much as I enjoy lancing a boil,” she said snidely. “It’s distasteful but necessary, especially given… you know, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture meant to encompass the entire world. 

His ever-present smirk widened into a broad smile, and he let out a burbling laugh. “I think you and I will get along just fine, then.”

His laughter was knowing and playful at the same time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the sound of it or not. She pursed her lips, then turned toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something.” 

“I’ll join you,” he said, and he rose from the chair and tucked the piece of wood back inside of his cloak. 

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself. I thought you’d be tired, though. It’s a long way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “A long and perilous journey, fraught with bandits and poor weather and the odd Tevinter refugee. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris said. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an apple, then tossed it to him.

He caught it deftly. “I mean that I was brought here to speak with you about our… mutual friend. I assumed you would have questions.” 

_I suspect you have questions._ Felassan’s words were almost an echo of the ones that Solas had greeted her with a year ago, and the memory made her curl her lip. 

He lifted one dark eyebrow, and Tamaris carefully smoothed out her expression. “I would rather talk about you,” she said. “Like why you don’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on your face, for example. Does the Tranquility cure involve removing that scar?”

He smiled slowly. “They mentioned that you were blunt. They weren’t wrong.”

Tamaris huffed, then opened the enchanted icebox and pulled out some hard Fereldan cheese. “Uh-huh. What else did _they_ tell you about me?”

Felassan leaned back against the counter. “They said you can be aloof, sarcastic, and hard to crack. That you get things done through force of will more than charm.” His smile widened slightly. “They said that you allowed Empress Celene to be assassinated at the Winter Palace, and that you helped Briala to become the true power behind the throne.” 

Tamaris shrugged. “They weren’t wrong about any of that.”

Felassan nodded and idly rolled the apple between his palms. “They also say that you are far more compassionate than you seem, and that you and Fen’Harel were lovers.”

She paused in her cutting of the cheese and gave him a hard look, but his expression was pleasantly neutral. He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. “I don’t blame you,” he said through his full mouth. “He’s undeniably compelling.”

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then continued cutting the cheese. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you have a scar on your forehead?”

Felassan made an apologetic face. “If you were hoping to talk about something other than Fen’Harel, I’m afraid you’re taking the wrong tack.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

He idly flicked the side of his half-eaten apple. “I mean that it wasn’t that delightful Templar order that made me Tranquil,” he said. “It was him.”

Tamaris went still. “It… what?”

He looked up from the apple and met her eyes, and her belly jolted. For the first time since they’d met, his expression was utterly serious. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter in his strange amethyst-coloured eyes.

“Fen’Harel made me Tranquil,” Felassan said.

She stared breathlessly at him. Solas had made him Tranquil? No. No, that... it couldn’t be true. Solas abhorred the idea of Tranquility. He’d initially thought all the people of her time were Tranquil, and his horror at this misguided impression had fuelled his original plans to bring the Veil down on all of them. There was no way Solas would have done something so terrible to someone.

But Felassan looked so serious, and he had no reason to lie to her. And Solas _had_ told her that he would see his plans to fruition, by any means necessary… 

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't tell if it was because of agitation or disgust or fear. She swallowed hard. “Felassan, I am so sorry,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”

His expression went slack for a moment. Then some of his usual humour returned to his face. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“Glad I’m still capable of surprising people sometimes,” she said. “Do you want a drink or not?”

He chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. She carefully placed his impromptu meal of cheese and bread on a plate, then picked up a bottle of cider and headed back to the main room with the dining table. “So, Felassan. That’s a strange name. Who decided to call you a slow arrow?”

“ _I_ did, as a matter of fact,” he said wryly.

She raised her eyebrows and set the food on the table before taking a seat. “Why would you call yourself _that?_ ”

He sat in the chair beside her and studied her quietly for a moment, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?” 

“This is truly what you want to talk about?” he asked. 

She wilted in exasperation. “Cassandra might not have told you this, but I hate small talk. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know. If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so.”

A smile lit his face again, and Tamaris idly noted that he was quite handsome. His hair was as black as her own unruly waves, and probably about as long as hers if he were to unbind it from its leather wrap. A few faint wrinkles creased his tawny skin, giving the impression that he was maybe ten to fifteen years older than her, but his dimpled smile held a boyish sense of mischief. And then there were his unusual and luminous violet eyes. 

She dropped his gaze and started peeling the wax seal off of the bottle of cider. “So? Are you going to tell me about your name or not?” 

“I wouldn't dare to turn down my gracious hostess’s request,” he said. “But I have to warn you, our dear friend Fen’Harel plays into the tale.”

 _Of course he does,_ Tamaris thought bitterly. It seemed like she could barely talk to anyone about anything these days without Solas coming up somehow.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle of cider, then took a gulp of the tart-and-sweet booze before offering it to him. “All right. Let’s hear it. Tell me about fucking Fen’Harel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to imagine Tamaris's mansion as having the same layout as Hawke's. I'm lazy and that's what I'm imagining... though the decor is obviously different, LOL.
> 
> I am [nervous Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) sitting nervously in the corner if you want to swing by and say hello! 😂


	3. Enansal'in

Felassan lifted a slice of cheese from his plate and sniffed it delicately before taking a bite. He chewed slowly, and his expression shifted from pensive to approving as he swallowed the cheese.

Then he took another leisurely bite.

Tamaris stared flatly at him. “Well?” she said. “Are you going to tell me where your name came from or not?”

He blinked at her. “Eager for stories now, are we?”

She lifted one eyebrow, and he smirked and popped the rest of the cheese in his mouth. “All right,” he said. “The story is this: there once was a village who pled with Fen’Harel to come and aid them by killing a great beast. When Fen’Harel arrived and laid eyes on the beast, he knew that he could not slay it. So instead of fighting the beast, he shot a single arrow into the sky. The village elders asked how the arrow would save them, to which Fen’Harel replied: ‘When did I say that I would save you?’” Felassan took a bite of bread and chewed for a moment before continuing his tale. “Fen’Harel left the village, and that very night, the great beast came and killed the elders and the warriors and the women. It stalked toward the children with its slavering jaws wide… and _that_ is when Fen’Harel’s arrow fell from the sky into the great beast’s open maw, killing it outright.” He leaned his elbows on the table and selected another piece of cheese. “The children wept for their elders, and yet they still offered thanks to Fen’Harel, for he had done as they had asked: he had slain the great beast with his cunning, and with a slow arrow that the beast never saw coming.”

Tamaris studied him silently as she considered his tale. There was a shit ton of information there to unpack. There was the story itself, of course; how much of it was based in the truth, and how much of it had been twisted and plumped up into a parable? More personally, though, the story was interesting for the context of the slow arrow within it. If Felassan had named himself after this parable, then he was calling himself Fen’Harel’s hidden weapon, so to speak. 

Was this how Felassan and Solas knew each other, then? Did Felassan used to be one of Solas’s agents?

She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “All right. That’s the children’s story version. Now tell me what really happened.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“Tell me why you really chose that name,” Tamaris said. “Who were you to him?”

A slow smile lit his face. “That depends on _when_ you mean. Even those of you who live shorter lives see your roles change over time. I might ask you the same question, after all.” He lifted his chin appraisingly. “Who were _you_ to him?”

 _Vhenan. My heart._ Solas’s tender voice intruded in her mind, and she scowled. “We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you,” she said, and she took a sip of cider.

He chuckled. “You’re quite the interrogator. Living up to your title, I suppose.”

“That’s not my title anymore,” she said. “And _you’re_ being evasive. Why bother?”

He tilted his head quizzically, and she waved impatiently at him. “Why bother trying to talk circles around me? I know the truth now. I know who he is. I know you’re from his time. Why are you bothering to hide anything?”

He studied her for a long moment, then smirked and leaned back casually in his chair. “Call it force of habit.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows expectantly, and Felassan shrugged. “I was a spy. A gatherer of secrets and information.” He elegantly waved one hand. “Subterfuge and sneaking, mostly, but charm as well when it was called for. Which was… often, at some points.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. It sounded like he was a bard, or whatever the Elvhen equivalent of that would have been. “A trusted spy, I assume,” she said.

He shrugged again and toyed idly with another piece of cheese. “As trusted a spy as any.”

“Come on, don’t be coy,” Tamaris said. “You must have been a real threat to him if he deemed it necessary to neutralize you.”

Felassan laughed softly. “Not quite. I had already foiled him by the time he made me Tranquil.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What? Wait. You – you actually fucked up some of his plans?”

“I did indeed,” he said. “And it was completely unplanned to boot!” He let out a happy little sigh. “Last-minute betrayals are the most piquant kind, don’t you think?” 

His smile was cheeky, but Tamaris didn’t laugh. Something about the levity of his tone made her realize the weight of what he was about to tell her. 

“What happened?” she asked quietly. 

Felassan tapped the plate for a moment, then picked up a piece of bread and took a bite. Tamaris waited patiently while he chewed, but when he finally spoke, it was to change the subject. “Why did you raise Briala to power?” he asked.

Tamaris raised an eyebrow at the non-sequitur, but she decided to go with it. It was clearly the only way she was going to get him talking. 

She shrugged and folded her arms. “She was the only one who was trying to help people,” she said. “Celene and Gaspard…” She _tsk_ ed in disdain. “To them, the civil war was a pissing contest. They had soldiers dying in the Exalted Plains while they squabbled over the throne. Briala actually wanted to make things better for our people.”

“‘Our’ people, you say,” Felassan said thoughtfully. “You consider Briala to be ‘your’ people?”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you subscribe to Solas’s ‘I don’t identify with elves’ bullshit.”

He grinned. “I ask because I’m surprised _you_ don’t subscribe to it. You’re Dalish, aren’t you?”

“All Dalish are not the same,” she said in a hard voice. “I don’t know what fucking Dalish clans you and Solas talked to, but _my_ clan would happily take in refugees from the city whenever they came across us.”

“And that’s why you supported Briala?” Felassan said. “Because she was helping the elves?”

“I supported her because she wasn’t full of shit,” Tamaris said in annoyance. “She actually showed up to help us kill the assassins who were attacking her people. It’s more than either Celene or Gaspard could say.”

“And what about Celene, since you mentioned her?” he said. “She was once known as quite the diplomat.”

“‘Diplomat’,” Tamaris sneered. “That’s such a two-sided term. A good diplomat acts as a bridge between people. A corrupt one uses their silver tongue to maintain the status quo, and I know which kind Celene was.” She leaned toward Felassan. “I might be Dalish, but I don’t have fucking dirt in my ears. I know about the purge of the Halamshiral alienage. There’s no justifying that.” She took another gulp of cider, then offered him the bottle.

He took the cider, but instead of drinking it, he just sat there studying her with that infuriating little curl of a smile. 

She gave him a chiding look. “Make a painting. It’ll last longer.”

He laughed, and Tamaris folded her arms. “Are you going to tell me what happened now? How you spoiled Solas’s plans?”

“I believe I will, yes,” he said pleasantly. He took a drink from the bottle of cider, then placed it back on the table. “I’ll start by telling you I have been awake in this world for… nearly as long as you have been alive, I would say.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “How old are you? Twenty-six, perhaps?”

She scoffed. “I’m thirty-two, if you must know.”

“Ah,” Felassan said. “Sorry about that; I’m abysmal at guessing ages. In any case, I’ve been wandering these lands for about twenty-five years. Learning the lay of the land, figuring out the ways of the various people who live here and so on. When I was here for… oh, about five years, I met a scared elven girl running away from Halamshiral. I persuaded her to fight against the status quo instead of running from it, and she became my…” He snapped his fingers as though to jog his memory. “What is that Orlesian word? Ah yes. My protégée, so to speak. We met sporadically as the years went on, but in that time, she…” He trailed off and shook his head, and when he raised his eyes to Tamaris’s face again, his expression was serious. “She was a rabbit when we met. And I know how much your people – modern elves, I should say – I know how much you hate that term. But when we met, that is what she was.” He crossed one ankle over his knee and trailed his fingers idly over the bottle of cider. “As the years wore on, though, she became a wolf. A wolf in her own right.” He smiled slowly, and Tamaris’s heart skipped a beat; there was something rather wolfish in Felassan’s face now.

“She became a wolf in rabbit’s clothing,” Felassan said, “working in the heart of Halamshiral.”

Tamaris’s belly jolted in recognition. “You mean Briala,” she said dumbly. “That’s why you were asking about her. Briala was your protégée? You turned her into a spymaster?”

“I would claim no such thing,” Felassan said. “I simply gave her the tools to unleash who she really is and what she’s capable of.” He gave her an arch look. “You met her. Would you deny that she’s a force to be reckoned with?”

“No,” Tamaris said. “But…” She trailed off and stared hard at him. “Did she know who you really were? That you were an agent of the Dread Wolf?”

Felassan slowly shook his head. “She had her suspicions that I was not what I seemed. She confronted me about it, in fact,” he added with a smile. “But… no. I never told her outright that I was an agent of the Dread Wolf.”

“But you taught her about him,” Tamaris said.

“I did indeed,” Felassan said. He chuckled. “I taught her about him, helped shape her into someone he would be proud of… and I betrayed him for her sake.”

“In what way?” Tamaris asked.

He took another sip of cider before speaking. “About two years before your Inquisition was formed, Fen’Harel gifted me with a special job: to obtain a keystone that would allow him to take full control of the eluvians.”

 _Control over the eluvians?_ Her jaw dropped, and Felassan smiled. “I see that you know something of this already,” he said dryly.

“You’re… he mentioned you,” she said. “When I saw him last. He said that he had an agent who was supposed to take control of the eluvians from Briala…” She shook her head. A weird sense of vertigo was stealing over her at the coincidence of this. 

“It was you,” she said blankly. “You’re the agent who didn’t succeed.”

Felassan laughed. “‘Didn’t succeed’. Are those the words he used? How very neutral of him.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “So you’re telling me you purposely went against his orders? You didn’t want him to have control of the eluvians?”

“I wanted _Briala_ to have them,” he said. “I wanted…” He sighed and ran his palm over his neatly bound hair. “She deserved a chance. A chance at a rebellion of her own. I simply gave that to her – or rather, I didn’t take it away from her.”

Tamaris’s mind was churning. “So Briala had control over the eluvians,” she said slowly. “Or some of them, at least. You were supposed to take control from her, but you didn’t. And that’s why Solas made you Tranquil?”

“In fairness, I’m sure that making me Tranquil was a mistake on his part,” Felassan said. “He certainly intended to kill me. Fen’Harel can’t tolerate betrayal, you see.” He huffed in amusement. “When I woke up, I would have been surprised about being alive if I’d been capable of it.” 

Tamaris frowned. Despite the macabre topic of conversation, his smile was only growing wider.

He let out a sudden snort of laughter. “If I’d been capable of it,” he said drolly. “It’s – it’s humorous, you see, because I was…” He snorted again. “I was Tranquil. I couldn’t feel surprise. I felt nothing. I–” He broke off with another burst of laughter, and all of a sudden he was laughing in earnest – a rolling belly laugh that was making his cheeks turn pink with mirth.

Tamaris watched him warily. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that Solas had taken possession of the eluvians from Briala, but her words were overshadowed by concern as Felassan continued to laugh in an oddly uncontrolled way. 

He was laughing so hard now that there were tears in his eyes. He sobbed suddenly, then burst out laughing again and slapped his palm on the table. “He meant to kill me,” he gasped. “He t-tried to kill me, but he was too late. I was the–” He hiccuped, and a rivulet of tears ran down his face. Then another storm of laughter burst from his lips. 

Tamaris’s heart rate kicked up. _This_ was the volatility that he and Evangeline had been talking about – the emotional lability that accompanied the curing of Tranquility. 

Felassan clutched his stomach and gasped in a breath. “I was the slow arrow,” he rasped. “He didn’t – he didn’t see me coming.” He grinned at Tamaris, and a fresh wave of tears ran down his cheeks. “I was the slow arrow, and he didn’t see me coming. But he b-broke me in the end.” He pounded his fist on the table and burst out laughing again, and Tamaris noted with alarm that his fist was smoking slightly. 

She shuffled her chair closer to him. “Felassan,” she said.

Another burst of mirth left his lips, but it sounded painful and breathless now, like it was being dragged form his belly by force. “That _is_ my name, yes,” he wheezed. “That’s the n-name I chose…” He hiccuped again, and this time it sounded distinctly like a sob. 

“Felassan, look at me,” she said. 

“I _am_ looking,” he said. “I’m always looking. I spy with my little eye… because I am a spy, you see. It’s very f-fitting–” He choked out another sob. His fists were both starting to glow like the embers of a fire, and face was twisted with a terrible mixture of mirth and distress. 

She shifted even closer until their knees were nearly touching. “Look at me,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Look at me, okay? Focus on me.” 

His reddened eyes rose to meet her green ones, and Tamaris nodded slowly without breaking his gaze. “Now breathe,” she said. “Just look at me and breathe. Focus on your breathing. In and out.” 

He drew a shaky, rasping breath, and Tamaris inhaled with him and nodded. “Now out,” she said.

He burst out another sobbing laugh, but Tamaris didn’t look away. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “It’s okay. Breathe in, now.”

Felassan gulped in another erratic breath, and she nodded. “See?” she said quietly. “You’re fine. Keep going.” She held out her hands. 

He clenched his jaw, then grabbed her hands roughly and let out a sharp breath, and Tamaris squeezed his hands and ignored the uncomfortable warmth of his magic-heated palm through her intact right hand. “Focus,” she said. “Focus right here, on my hands and on your breath.” 

He gripped her hands, and Tamaris gazed steadily at him while he breathed. His hands were so hot, like she was holding her own palms too close to a fire, and his eyes were still wet with tears. But the longer Tamaris gazed at him, the more his palms began to cool. 

They stayed like this for a few long minutes, Felassan breathing slowly and deeply while he stared into Tamaris’s unflinching eyes. When his palms had returned to a normal temperature, he took another deep breath and smiled at her. “Well, there you have it,” he said. “That’s the tale of the slow arrow. The beast didn’t see it coming, but he still broke it in the end.” He laughed again, but his laugh sounded less hysterical now and more like his usual self. “A fitting punishment, I suppose. It all ties up nicely, just the way a good story should.”

Tamaris frowned. “A fitting punishment? How do you figure?”

Felassan shrugged casually. “I betrayed the Dread Wolf. Of course he tried to kill me.”

She narrowed her eyes. Why was Felassan blaming himself for what Solas had done to him? “He’s hardly innocent,” she said. “He’s a traitor too. He betrayed the Inquisition.” _He betrayed me,_ she thought bitterly. 

“So I’ve heard,” Felassan said quietly. 

His expression was sympathetic now. Tamaris pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to their joined hands, and they were both silent for a few moments. 

Then she realized that she was still holding his hands. 

She released him and awkwardly tapped her fingers on her knees. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Better?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. Truly.” 

Tamaris waved him off. “It’s nothing. No thanks needed,” she said. 

He nodded slowly, then picked up a half-eaten piece of bread and bit into it with more gusto than before, but as he ate, his violet eyes were tracing carefully over her face.

She could practically see the questions behind his eyes. She stood up abruptly. “You’re probably tired,” she said. “You should rest when you’re finished eating. You can have the second bedroom.” She headed for the stairs and made a beeline for the second bedroom, ostensibly to check that it was ready for guests, but in truth, she wanted a moment on her own.

She stepped into the bedroom — also decorated in a simple Free Marcher style, thank fuck — then gazed down at her palms. The metal left one was unmarred, the lyrium lines glowing faintly as they usually did, but her right palm was shiny and red like a sunburn thanks to Felassan’s uncontrolled magic. 

_Doesn’t matter,_ she thought. What mattered was that Felassan was feeling calm and stable. 

Marin’s grinning face suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye. The unbidden thought of her brother sent a dull pang of timeworn pain through her chest, and she wearily ignored it. She took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and focused on the feeble hum of magic in her blood. 

A minute later, her palm was healed. She let out a slow breath, then stepped out of the bedroom and made her way down the stairs. 

Felassan was standing by the fireplace, and there was a copper kettle hanging over the crackling fire. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I’m partial to a little tea before bed.” 

She grunted an acknowledgement and returned to her chair. “Suit yourself. This place is as much your home now as mine.”

He tilted his head quizzically, and she shrugged. “I only just moved in. I just arrived in Kirkwall this morning.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You must be exhausted too, then. You should have some of this.” He lifted the kettle from the fire and brought it over to the table where a porcelain teapot sat beside two teacups — all of them rimmed with fine gold plating, Tamaris noted with disgust.

She watched as he began pouring water into the teapot. “Not if I want to sleep. Tea and coffee keep me wired all night.”

“This tea certainly won’t,” he said.

His tone was oddly wry, and Tamaris shot him a little frown. “Why? What kind of tea is this?”

“It will stop you from dreaming,” Felassan replied.

Tamaris went still. For a split second, a flash of a memory crossed her mind: a memory of a dream that she had a few times a month — a dream about a large white wolf watching her from across an endless distance. 

A dream that she was able to avoid if she drank enough rum before falling asleep.

She swallowed hard. “I’ll have some. Thanks.”

He smirked at her as he sat down. “Something tells me we’re sharing a common motivation on this matter.”

“Probably,” she mumbled.

He continued to gaze at her, apparently waiting for her to elaborate, but when she said nothing further, he shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen for the Dread Wolf to catch my scent, as you Dalish like to say. This helps with that.” He tapped the teapot. “It stops you from accessing the Fade when you fall asleep.”

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively, both at the powerful-sounding tea and at his forethought. “That’s smart,” she said. “If he can’t find you in the Fade, he won’t know you’re still alive, and you can work against him in secret.”

“That is an idea,” Felassan said. He began pouring the tea, and Tamaris frowned at him. Was he not planning on helping to stop Solas’s horrendous plans, then? If he wasn’t looking to help in the efforts against Solas, then why was he here?

The answer came to her almost immediately. _He had no real choice about coming here,_ she thought. He’d just been brought back to himself after spending, what, five years as a Tranquil? Of course he didn’t have any plans yet. Frankly, she was surprised he wasn’t more of a mess. Relearning how to handle emotions and desires and his own magic after five years of living a totally placid existence… 

A shiver raced down her spine. Then Felassan pushed a cup toward her. “ _Enansal’in_ ,” he said.

A bittersweet feeling of familiarity squeezed her heart at the Elvhen word. When she looked up to meet his eye, his gaze was steady and calm. 

The look on his face, and the Elvhen wish for good health and peace… To her surprise, it gave her a warm feeling in her belly.

“ _Enansal’in_ ,” she said softly, and she took a sip from her cup of tea. 

The tea was bitter but smooth at the same time, a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar flavours. She rolled it around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “What’s in this?” she asked.

He smirked and lifted the cup to his lips. “It’s an ancient elvhen secret,” he said slyly.

His strange violet eyes were dancing with humour, and he was so clearly taking the piss that Tamaris couldn’t help it: she chuckled. 

His smile softened, and he lowered his cup. “It’s quite simple, really. Embrium, dragonthorn, and the crucial ingredient: felandaris.”

“Felandaris?” she said in surprise. Felandaris was poisonous. “You’re not serious.”

“I am, in fact,” Felassan said cheerfully. “And… well, I was partly serious when I said it’s an ancient elvhen secret. This is a formula of my own making.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “Were you a potion-maker back in the olden days, too?”

He let out a little laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “This tea could never exist in the ‘olden days’, as you so charmingly put it.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because felandaris didn’t exist,” he said.

“It — really?” she said blankly.

He nodded. “It grows where the Veil is thin. It is a byproduct of the interaction between this world and the Fade.”

Tamaris suddenly understood. “And there was no division between the real world and the Fade back in your time,” she finished.

“That’s right,” he said with a smile. He took a sip of tea, then swirled his cup idly. “It’s an admirable little weed, really. I’ve always loved the idea of life that can only grow from violence.”

She frowned at this statement. He said it so casually, but she wasn’t sure of the last time she’d heard anyone say anything so loaded.

 _Life that could only grow from violence…_ There was something more to that, but she was too tired right now to give it the thought it deserved. 

She sipped her tea quietly. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. “If you didn’t know about felandaris before, how did you know it could block dreams?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” he said. “It was an interesting few months of experimentation, I can tell you. The hallucinations I had were deeply entertaining.”

She smirked and sipped her tea again. When her cup was almost empty, she realized that Felassan was watching her again.

“I’m not going to do a trick just because you’re watching, you know,” she said snarkily.

He smiled, but his expression remained serious somehow. “Laughter doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?”

She gave him a deeply skeptical look. “Are you living in the same world as I am? What the fuck is there to laugh about?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that depends on where you find humour.”

She _tsk_ ed. “If you’re looking for someone to laugh with, you’ve come to the wrong house.”

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I have.”

He was still watching her in a way that made her feel oddly itchy. “I guess we’ll see,” she said. She drained her cup and stood up. “Goodnight, then.”

He nodded politely in farewell, but even as Tamaris turned away, she caught a glimpse of that ever-present smirk still on his lips. 

She huffed, then went upstairs to the bedroom on the left and closed the door behind her. Once she was alone, she heaved a heavy sigh and went over to the en-suite washroom. She splashed some water on her face and brushed her teeth, then carelessly stripped down to her undershirt and smallclothes.

She plopped down on the bed and unstrapped her mechanical arm, then set it carefully on the bedside table beside the half-empty bottle of rum she’d placed here earlier today. She slid under the covers — _so strange being in a bed again,_ she thought idly — and just as she’d been doing most nights for the past couple of months, she reached for the bottle of rum.

Then she paused. If Felassan’s tea was meant to block out dreams… 

For a long, agonizing moment, she hesitated with her fingers hovering tensely over the mouth of the bottle. She probably shouldn’t have any rum; she had no idea how it would interact with the tea she’d drunk. Felandaris was a poison, after all, and just because Felassan had made it safe to imbibe as a tea didn’t mean it was okay to mix with hard alcohol. Besides, there was no reason to drink the rum if the tea was going to stop her from dreaming about… _him_.

She blew out a sharp breath. _I’ll go without it,_ she thought. She reached over and extinguished the alchemical lamp on her bedside table, then lay down in bed and arranged the blanket up to her chin with her right hand, and when she was sufficiently cozy, she closed her eyes. 

She breathed quietly in the dark for a while. Then she sat up and reached for the bottle. 

_Just a sip,_ she thought. _Just in case the tea doesn’t work._ She held the bottle between her knees and pulled out the cork with her right hand, then took a generous swallow of rum.

The sugary liquor burned its way down her throat. She chased it with a sip of water, then replaced the cork and placed the bottle on the table, and with a sigh, she slid back under the covers and closed her eyes. 

_Tomorrow,_ Tamaris thought. Tomorrow, she would try Felassan’s tea without the rum to back it up. 

For tonight, she just wanted a guarantee of a dark and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms, from FenxShiral:  
> \- Enansal'in: Comfort or healing, specifically after great pain or loss. I imagine that this is analogous to saying ‘santé’ in French. 
> 
> [Join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy! xo


	4. She Who Dances With Fire

Late the next morning, Tamaris opened her bedroom door to the smell of bacon. 

Her stomach growled in response, and she wandered downstairs to find Felassan in the main room. He was lounging on a pile of silk cushions on the plush angora carpet in front of the fire, and there was an array of breakfast foods on the dining table: some lightly charred toast, half of a perfect sunny-yellow omelette, and a few rashers of bacon, along with a beautifully presented plate of fruit, half of which had been eaten. 

“Is this for me?” she asked in surprise.

“Unless you’re harbouring another ancient elven refugee in your house that I’m unaware of, yes,” he said. “It’s for you.” 

_A quip first thing in the morning. Of course,_ she thought ruefully. She gave him an exasperated look, and he smirked. “Enjoy,” he said.

She sat at the table and glanced at him once more, but he wasn’t paying attention to her; he was reading a dog-eared book, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows as she recognized it: it was a copy of _This Shit Is Weird._

She pulled the omelette closer. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

“I took it from your pack last night,” he said without looking up. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. “You went through my pack?” she demanded.

“You said to make myself at home,” he replied.

“What’s next, then?” she said archly. “Are you going to be going through my underwear? Or did you pick your favourites out of my pack already?”

“I resisted going that far,” he said. Then he smiled slyly at her. “Besides, I prefer to go without undergarments.”

That fucking shit-eating smirk… Tamaris couldn’t laugh. She _couldn’t_. She didn’t dare give him the satisfaction. She took a big bite of toast to stop herself from smiling. “Is that a custom from ancient Elvhenan?” she said snarkily. “No underwear?”

“From what I’ve heard, you should know the answer to that question already,” he replied.

This was the third or fourth time he’d alluded to her past relationship with Solas. All of a sudden, a burst of anger roiled in her chest. 

She lowered her fork and turned on her chair to face him fully. “You want to know about me and Solas?” she said in a hard voice. “Fine. Solas and I _were_ lovers, all right? But he broke up with me, and then he left without explaining why, and then he showed up two years later to tell me that — surprise! — he was the fucking Dread Wolf all along and he just decided not to tell me. And oh, by the way, he was planning to destroy the world all along.” She broke off and took a deep breath to try and calm her temper, then glared at Felassan. “Have you heard enough, or are you going to keep asking me about my fucking sex life?”

He didn’t reply right away. His face was pleasant and calm despite the anger she’d thrown at him, and through her residual rage, her gut twisted; there was something about his expression that actually reminded her of Solas. 

No, not just of Solas; of Abelas, too, that Sentinel from the Well of Sorrows. It was like the calm in Felassan’s face was born not from an even temper, but from some deeper understanding of things that Tamaris couldn’t fathom – some deeper understanding that led to an even deeper sense of melancholy. 

Then he smiled, and the smile chased away the ineffable world-weariness in his face. “Well, that’s disappointing,” he said. “Now you’ve ruined the end of this book for me.” He closed the book and put it down, then settled back on the silk cushions and folded his arms behind his head.

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then finally returned to her omelette. They were both silent for a time, Tamaris eating her breakfast while Felassan lounged in front of the fire. He looked happy enough, with his eyes closed and his bare foot waving idly as though to a tune that Tamaris couldn’t hear. By the time she’d finished eating the surprisingly delicious omelette and the bacon, however, her hunger was gone, replaced by guilt. 

She turned around to face him once more. “You can keep that book if you want.” 

He lazily cracked open one eye. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

She shrugged. “I can always get another copy from Varric. Which reminds me…” She trailed off. She was about to say she was planning to go visit him at the Viscount’s Keep, but Felassan’s presence changed things. Tamaris didn’t want to leave Felassan alone in case his emotions and his magic got the better of him, but she also couldn’t very well bring Solas’s supposed-to-be-dead ex-agent out in public, either.

“Is something wrong?” Felassan asked. 

“Ye– well, not exactly,” she said. “I was going to go visit Varric at his office today, but I just realized I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to leave you on your own in case you do something dangerous by accident,” she said bluntly. 

“Ah,” he said. “I see. A volatile apostate wandering the city _is_ less than ideal.”

She gave him an odd look. “We don’t really use the word ‘apostate’ anymore. The College of Enchanters are encouraging people to say ‘free mages’ now instead of ‘apostates’.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “College of Enchanters. Interesting. And how do the Circle mages feel about the implication that they are _not_ free? Assuming the Circles were reinstated.”

Tamaris frowned, even more bemused by this. How did he not know the Chantry Circles had been reinstated? It had been a few years now. “They… yes, they were, unfortunately,” she said. “And to answer your question: they, uh, don’t love it. It’s a source of constant debate from what I’ve heard, but I’m not really looped into the latest Chantry bullshit at the moment.”

“Hm,” Felassan murmured. Then he shrugged and folded his hands over his abdomen. “Well, this is a conundrum,” he said brightly. “If you can’t go anywhere and I can’t go anywhere, it appears that we’re confined to each other’s company.”

“Looks that way,” Tamaris said wryly. “Good thing this house has a big library.”

He sighed with mock-sadness. “And here I imagined that we’d pass the time exchanging tales around the fireside. Perhaps with shadow puppets to illustrate.”

She narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he was making another dig at her Dalish background. “Are you going to ask me dance naked in the moonlight while singing an ode to Ghilan’nain and the halla, too?” she said sarcastically.

He shot her a sharp look, then grinned roguishly. “Dance naked in the moonlight? That’s a Dalish custom I’d be agreeable to witnessing firsthand.”

“Hilarious,” she said flatly. “If anyone here should be telling stories, it’s you. That’s why you’re here, after all.” 

He raised his eyebrows, and she winced at how callous she sounded. “Sorry,” she said. “I… fuck, that was rude. Actually, I…” She ran a hand through her curly hair. “Listen, I should thank you for even coming here. It’s a long way from the Hunterhorns, especially with you being all, um, fucked up still after being Tranquil.” She broke off and rubbed her mouth, then gave him a frank look. “I’m bad at apologizing. And at saying thank you. But I hope you can accept this as both.” 

He shrugged. “I might. _If_ you tell me a tale.”

She made a face. “I’m not really the storytelling kind.”

“That’s a shame,” he said. “Weaving tales is a lost art, if you ask me.” He let out another musical little sigh. “Well, if you won’t tell me a tale, then you should tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?” she said a little suspiciously. “You can read about me in that book.” She jerked her chin at _This Shit Is Weird_.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “This book. A story in the purest sense of the word.” He picked up the novel and looked askance at her. “How accurate is this?”

“It’s… got the broad strokes,” she hedged.

Felassan grinned, and Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Look, it wasn’t meant to be non-fiction. It’s completely based off of real events and people, and the big things are mostly accurate. But if Varric wrote everything exactly like it was, nobody would read it. It would be too…” She trailed off. Too what? Too implausible? Too boring? Too fucking awful?

Felassan, meanwhile, was still smiling. “Adjusting events to achieve a particular goal… your friend Varric really is a true storyteller. Was he a spy for your Inquisition?”

 _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ she thought snarkily, but she didn’t say it. At the very least, it would be unnecessarily rude. Furthermore, there was no reason _not_ to answer his question. It wasn’t like he was working for Solas anymore. 

“No, he wasn’t,” she said. “But he does manage a spy network here in Kirkwall, with ties far beyond the Free Marches.”

Felassan’s smile broadened. “Interesting. I would have liked to meet him.”

“You will,” she said. “He’ll come over sooner or later if I don’t show up at his office.”

“Then I’ll be honoured by the visit,” Felassan said with a little bow of his head. Somehow he managed to make the gesture look elegant even from his lazy lounging position on the floor.

Tamaris huffed and selected a slice of ripe peach from the fruit plate. She ate quietly for a little while longer, but with every passing tick of the clock on the mantle, she only became more aware of Felassan’s silent attention.

She shot him a flat look, and he raised his eyebrows knowingly. “Your avoidance is only making me more curious, you know,” he said.

“And your insistence is only making me want to throw a grape at your head,” she retorted.

“Please do,” Felassan said brightly. “I always welcome food being thrown at me.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. Then, on a whim, she plucked a grape from the fruit plate and tossed it at his face. 

To her surprise, he actually caught the grape in his mouth. She blinked in surprise, and he shot her a grin as he chewed it. “Does this mean you’ll talk now?” he said.

She _tsk_ ed at him and popped a grape in her own mouth, and Felassan leisurely shifted onto his side to face her. “Back in Arlathan, we used to say that the most bountiful catch lies in the quietest pools, for their depths are unplumbed.”

She scoffed. “That’s what you used to say, huh?”

“It is,” he said. “And you shouldn’t scoff at me. It’s a compliment.”

She gave him a hard look. “You don’t know that I have unplumbed depths. Maybe I’m just a shallow angry bitch.”

He snickered at this. “A truly shallow person wouldn’t consider the possibility that they are shallow.”

She pursed her lips, and Felassan tilted his head pleadingly. “Come now, Tamaris. It is a small thing I ask – a little information about my hostess. Would you really begrudge a man who’s been living in a cave for years?”

A chill ran down her spine. “You were living in a cave all this time?” she blurted.

“No,” he said. An annoying grin lit his handsome face. “But that got your attention, didn’t it?”

She pursed her lips at his irreverence, then frowned. “Where were you for the past few years, then?” she said. She pulled a little face. “I… damn, I should have asked yesterday, I’m sorry.”

“If I tell you this, will you tell me something about yourself?” he said.

She frowned and toyed with the fruit plate, and Felassan spoke again in a cajoling tone. “A story for a story. It is a fair trade.”

She sighed. “Fuck’s sake. Fine. You first, though. Where were you for the past few years?”

“In no one place, as it happens,” he said. He turned onto his back once more and nestled comfortably into the silk cushions. “When I was first… struck low, shall we say, I was in a remote part of the Planacene Forest. I remained there alone for some time. I was near death when I was found by a Dalish hunter.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Shit,” she said. “How long was that?”

“I can’t be certain,” he said. “Several days, I’m sure. The hunter took me back to his clan, and they restored me from the brink of death.”

She frowned slightly at this. If he’d been saved by a Dalish clan, why did he seem to have so much disdain for them? 

“The Dalish that took you in,” she said carefully. “Were they… weren’t they kind to you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. 

Tamaris frowned more deeply. How could he not know if they'd been kind?

He was still speaking. “They gave me food and water and clean clothes. They healed my wounds and gave me medicine for pain. I believe they were…” He paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. “‘Unnerved’ would be the best word for it.”

“Yes, they would have been,” Tamaris said quietly. “They’d probably never met a Tranquil before.” Tamaris certainly hadn’t met any Tranquil before she’d fallen in with the Inquisition, and she still remembered the first time she’d met a Tranquil at Haven. 

She still remembered excusing herself as politely as she could, then stumbling into the first empty room she could find and vomiting violently onto the carpet. 

A sudden memory of Marin’s haunted green eyes rose in her mind. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to Felassan. “Were the Dalish afraid of you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said again.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she asked.

“I mean that I don’t know if they were kind or cruel or afraid. All I can tell you is what happened,” he replied. “They didn’t kill me, and they gave me the means to stay alive. If you call that kindness, then that is what they showed me.”

Tamaris recoiled slightly; there was an edge to his voice now that she hadn’t heard before. “All right,” she said cautiously.. “And… you mentioned that you didn’t stay in one place. I assume you left the Planacene Forest with the clan?”

“Yes,” he said. “The clan left the forest and moved along the fringes of the Free Marches. Their Keeper was hoping to encounter another clan to trade with.”

Tamaris studied him worriedly as he spoke. His voice was becoming flat, and it was a clear departure from his usual expressive tone. 

“And did they find another clan?” she asked. 

“No,” he said. “They ran afoul of some rogue Templars. Deserters from Kirkwall who were seeking lyrium.”

Her heart seized. “Oh. Oh fuck.”

He nodded a brief acknowledgement. “They approached the clan and demanded lyrium. There was an altercation with deaths on both sides, but the clan had no lyrium to give.”

 _Fucking Templars,_ she thought angrily. “Of course they didn’t have fucking lyrium,” she gritted out. “Most clans don’t really use it.” 

Felassan nodded, and Tamaris noted bemusedly that his expression was as neutral now as his tone. “The Templars appeared to be desperate,” he said. “They looted some weapons and food from the clan, and they took me with them.” 

“The Templars took you?” she asked. “Why?”

“One of the Templars had a contact who knew someone in the Carta,” he replied.

“The Carta?” she said with growing confusion.

“Yes,” Felassan said. “The Templars traded me to the Carta in exchange for lyrium.”

His voice was completely emotionless now. With a chill, Tamaris realized why his narrative style seemed so strange: he was recounting these events as he would have remembered them as a Tranquil — as a series of objective, factual events with no emotional investment.

For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Then she rose from her chair and sat beside him on the rug.

He shot her a look of surprise, but she gently pressed on with the conversation. “How long were you with the Templars for?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “A month. Maybe two.” He paused for a moment, and when Tamaris didn’t speak either, he shot her a tiny smile — a hint of his usual humour.

“You aren’t going to ask if the Templars were kind to me?” he said. “Or do you know the answer to that already?”

“I can guess,” Tamaris said, very quietly.

His wry smile faded, and he looked away from her toward the fire. “They gave me enough food and water to stay alive. And they beat me.”

Her stomach writhed, even though his words came as no shock. She shifted a little closer to him, and he shot her another look of surprise.

She steadily met his wide violet eyes. “I’m sorry for what they did to you,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away once more. “Don’t be. I didn’t feel it. I felt the pain, but I did not feel the rest.”

She swallowed hard. Was that how it was for all Tranquil? Feeling physical pain but no other kinds of pain? 

Again, her thoughts snapped to Marin — his joyful green eyes, green just like hers. The way he used to hug her, like he was going to lift her right off the ground. The way he’d screamed when the Templars dragged him away. 

She gruffly cleared her throat. “What happened next?” she murmured.

“The Carta put me to work,” Felassan said. “They thought I could work with their lyrium and make enchantments for them, which they could sell at a high price. But I have never had a particular facility with crafting. Then they discovered that I’m a dab hand at potion-making.” He smirked. “Ironic, since I only really began making potions when I woke up in your time.”

Tamaris nodded an acknowledgement, and he went on. “I made potions of various kinds for the Carta. Poisons, mostly, but other things too. I did this for years until I was bought by another dwarf. For an immense sum, or so I understand.” He gave her a tiny smile. “Someone thought I was valuable, it seemed.”

She frowned. “Who? Who bought you?”

“I didn’t know right away,” he said. “In fact, I didn’t find out who it was until I arrived at your Seeker’s sanctuary in the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

She straightened with a jolt of understanding. “It was Bianca Davri,” she said. Varric had mentioned to her yesterday that Felassan’s recovery had been thanks to a tip from Bianca.

Felassan nodded. “Yes. I spent a day at the sanctuary, and Cassandra and her people turned me back into this.” He gestured playfully at himself.

Tamaris nodded slowly. Being recovered first by the Dalish, then taken and abused by Templars, then kept as a slave by the Carta before finally being restored to himself… Her chest was hurting from the knowledge of what he’d gone through. And once again, she was stunned that he was able to maintain such a lighthearted attitude most of the time. 

“Are you glad to be back to yourself?” she asked.

He looked at her sharply, and her belly did a little flip; his gaze was piercing. Then he smiled slowly. “You know, you are the only one who has asked me that.” 

Her heart twisted. The fact that he hadn’t answered right away was quite telling. She waited patiently for him to speak.

He chuckled and ran a hand over his neatly bound hair. “I feel as though I am two people merged into one,” he said. “One moment I’m moving through the motions of life: cooking an omelette and enjoying the warmth of a fire and a book I stole from a pretty woman’s pack. The next moment, I’m remembering that I lived in a Carta hideout outside of Wildervale for years with almost no news of what was happening outside, and I didn’t care that I knew nothing. The memories are mine, but they’re…” He trailed off and shook his head slightly.

“Like a dream?” Tamaris supplied.

“No,” he said forcefully, to her surprise. “Not at all like a dream.” He looked at her once more, and his face was utterly serious. “I once walked in dreams with steps as certain as those you use to cross the rooftops. These memories, these — the memories of being Tranquil, they’re… they may as well be someone else’s thoughts forced into my head.” Then his face creased into an unexpected grin. “I spent almost five years as a shell. I was—” He interrupted himself with a snort of laughter. “I was beaten and kept indoors for weeks on end sometimes, and I didn’t care.” He snickered and shook his head, then grinned at her. “Did you know that most people don’t speak to Tranquil? They just don’t bother to speak to us. We might as well be furniture for all the attention they give us.” He laughed again, and Tamaris’s heart squeezed painfully at the hysterical edge to his laughter.

He suddenly reached under one of the silk cushions and brought out a short rod of silvery-white wood — the same piece of wood he’d been twirling in his fingers the night before. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

She examined the rod. “It’s ironwood,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “And that’s all this is.”

She eyed him warily. “I… don’t get it.”

He smiled and ran his thumb over the twisted length of wood. “It’s supposed to be a staff.”

She frowned in bemusement at the rod. It was only about the length of her foot. “But it’s so short.”

He tutted playfully. “Tamaris, Tamaris. It’s not the size of the staff; it’s how you use it.” 

His tone was cheeky, and she shot him a chiding look. He chuckled and stroked the piece of wood. “More importantly, I was once able to manipulate the dimensions of a staff like this until it was the length of a normal staff.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never heard of a staff like that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he said pleasantly. “I made it with my own two hands and my own magic.” His smile widened, and he chuckled. “I made it with my own magic.”

Suddenly she understood. “You can’t make another staff yet, can you?” she said softly.

He shook his head slowly. “No, I can’t. I can’t… I have little control over my magic. It’s like waking up again in this world for the first time, but far worse. I was able to adjust to how weak the flow of magic is with the Veil in place, but the problem now isn’t the Veil per se.” He smiled at her, and his eyes were bright. 

“The problem is me,” he said. “If I try to do a single spell, either nothing happens, or I could blow up your entire lovely gilded house. I’m—” He broke off and looked away from her, but not before she saw his face crumpling with distress.

She slowly shuffled closer to him. “Felassan, look at me.”

He shook his head tightly. His hands were still gripping the ironwood, which was starting to smoke faintly.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Don’t destroy that wood. You’ll need it to make a new staff.”

He spun toward her suddenly, and his face was twisted with rage. “Did you not hear me?” he yelled. “I can’t make a new staff. I can’t do anything that I should be able to do!”

She took a deep breath to calm her suddenly thrumming heart, then calmly held out her hand. “Can I hold on to it?” 

His grip tightened for a moment, but Tamaris steadily held out her hand. Then Felassan thrust the rod at her. “Take it,” he bit off. “For all the—” He broke off with a sudden sob. “—for all the good it does me.”

She took the slightly-singed piece of ironwood and tucked it into the back of her waistband. “I’ll keep it safe for when you’re ready.”

“I may never—” Another sob choked him, and he covered his mouth for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Tamaris ignored his laughter. “You don’t know that you’ll never get better,” she said.

“You don’t know that I _will!_ ” he shouted. “None of the other Tranquil at your Seeker’s precious sanctuary could do more than the simplest spells, and some of them had been cured for months before I was!”

Tears were trickling down his face now, and his eyes were snapping with rage — and with a flicker of lightning. She took another deep breath to quash her apprehension. “Can I touch you?” she asked.

He gave her a sharp look, and she swallowed hard; his eyes were incandescent with energy and magic. Then he barked out a sudden laugh. “This is an odd time for you to proposition me, but be my guest.”

She ignored his inappropriate innuendo and took one of his hands in hers. “You have no reason to think you can’t recover,” she told him. “Just take it one day at a time.”

Felassan laughed bitterly and wiped his face, but Tamaris ignored his skepticism and squeezed his hand. “It’s one day at a time,” she insisted. “Don’t beat yourself up, all right?”

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand in turn, and Tamaris studied the dampness of his long dark eyelashes as she waited for him to respond. When he finally opened his eyes, they were no longer bright with magic. 

He gave her a sardonic smile. “And what will you be doing while I’m on this perilous path to recovery? Are you going to watch over me until I am fit to leave the house?”

She shrugged and released his hand. “Honestly, why not? I’m not doing anything else.”

He gave her an appraising look. “There’s no pressure for you to take an active role in the war against Fen’Harel?”

“Not yet, thank fuck,” she said bluntly. “I think they all feel sorry for me still after what happened when I saw him last.” Her companions’ pity would usually have grated at her nerves, but if it meant they would leave her alone to lick her wounds for a while, she wasn’t going to complain. 

“Mm,” Felassan murmured. “Yes, finding out that everything you thought you knew was wrong can be somewhat jarring. Not to mention losing an arm.” He eyed her mechanical left arm.

She grunted and stretched her legs out on the rug. “Don’t forget about the ‘learning that your ex-lover is the villain in every childhood story you ever heard’ part. And also that he wasn’t really a villain. Not in your time, at least.”

Felassan gasped playfully. “Ex-lover, you say? Are you telling me about your sex life after all? My ears are burning.”

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up, you brat.”

He laughed, and Tamaris was pleased to note that his laugh was back to its usual rolling lilt. “I’ll happily do so, since it’s your turn now to share something about yourself.”

She sighed and ran her metal hand through her hair. “Fine, fair’s fair. What do you want to know?”

“What I’d like to know is how you’re so calm under fire. Literally,” he said. He held up his hands, which were no longer smoking. “Most people would back away from an uncontrolled mage. You move closer. It’s pretty odd behaviour for anyone who doesn’t have a death wish.”

She clenched her jaw. Of course he had to ask the most personal possible question, even if he didn’t realize how personal it was.

She stood up and returned to her seat at the dining table. “I had an older brother, Marin. He was… unwell. I was good at calming him down.”

There was a brief silence, which Felassan eventually broke. “‘Had’?” he said.

She exhaled slowly. “He died some time ago,” she said.

“ _Ir abelas,_ ” Felassan said softly.

Her throat swelled, and she swallowed hard and nodded. “ _Ma serannas._ ”

They were both quiet for a moment. Then Felassan spoke again. “Was it recent?”

“Not… really,” she said with difficulty. “Well, some of it was.”

He gave her a quizzical look, and she ran her fingers through her hair. “I was fifteen when Marin first started getting ill. He was nineteen. The worst part was that he was our clan’s First, so when he started getting… erratic, everyone knew something was wrong.”

“What was wrong?” Felassan asked.

“He had… bizarre thoughts,” she said. “Delusions. It came and went, but when it was really bad, he spoke to people who weren’t there. Some of our clan thought he was possessed by a demon, but he wasn’t. He was just sick.”

“You seem very confident that he wasn’t possessed,” Felassan said.

“I am confident,” she said firmly. “He wasn’t possessed, and he wasn’t crazy. He was sick. I said this to our healers, but it was… it was hard to convince them. And there was only so much they could do — potions to keep him calm when he was really… upset.” She folded her legs and tapped her metal fingers on the table. “I was the one who could keep him calm. I was the one who was able to bring him back to reality when he was starting to get lost in his own thoughts. But he wasn’t fucking possessed.”

Felassan didn’t reply. When Tamaris met his eye, it was to find him studying her in a very piercing way. She scowled at him, but before she could speak, his face suddenly cleared, as though he’d found the solution to a riddle. 

“You have some magical talent, don’t you?” he asked.

Her heart skipped a beat. How had he figured that out? It wasn’t something she advertised. Not even all of her closest companions in the Inquisition knew. “Hardly any,” she hedged.

“But you do have some,” he insisted.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Just a little bit.”

He smiled. “You can communicate with spirits.”

Tamaris stared at him, and he chuckled and shook his head. “That’s it, isn’t it? You knew your brother was not possessed because you could see that he wasn’t.”

She swallowed hard. “How did you…?”

“It’s logical,” he said. “It makes sense.” He laughed again and patted his knees in amusement. “It makes a great deal of sense, in fact.”

She studied him suspiciously; he was clearly laughing at some kind of private joke. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’ve always had a bit of a knack for talking to spirits. But most of my clan didn’t… they don’t know.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Because I would have been sent to a different clan if they found out,” she said. “We already had three mages, and my parents didn’t want to send me away.”

Felassan nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. Those wonderful Dalish customs.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Those _customs_ are better than fucking Chantry Circles, at least. And I can tell you that with certainty because that’s where Marin ended up. The clan that took care of you wasn’t the only one that ran afoul of fucking Templars.”

His playful expression faded instantly to seriousness. “Tell me.”

Tamaris scowled at the mostly-empty plate of fruit. “We were trading with some humans near Markham. Marin was having a bad time of it. He… a human got injured, and they called the Templars. The Templars came before we could leave, and they said either we had to hand Marin over, or they would kill my entire clan.”

Felassan’s expression softened with sympathy. “Oh, Tamaris.”

She clenched her jaw and idly flicked the fruit plate. “Marin went with the Templars. They took him to the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. We never—” She broke off abruptly; her eyes were burning. 

She lifted her gaze to the hideous chandelier overhead. A moment later, Felassan was silently settling into the chair opposite her. 

She refused to look at him. She breathed in slowly through her nose before speaking again. “We didn’t hear what happened to him after that. The Chantry doesn’t really give a fuck about passing news on to Dalish clans about their stolen family members. When I became the Inquisitor, I… I asked our commander what happened to Marin, since he used to be stationed at Kinloch Hold.”

“Your brother was made Tranquil,” Felassan said.

His voice was very soft. Tamaris pressed her lips together hard before speaking. “Yes,” she gritted. “And then he was killed. Caught in the crossfire during some kind of blood magic conspiracy that the Hero of Ferelden broke up.”

“I remember,” Felassan said quietly.

Tamaris swallowed the lump in her throat, then shrugged and put a grape in her mouth even though she wasn’t at all hungry. “So that’s it,” she said, and she bit down viciously on the fruit. “That’s why I’m good at calming people down. To some degree, at least. Practice makes perfect.”

Felassan tapped her knee. “ _Avise alas’nirelan._ ”

She paused with another grape halfway to her mouth. “Fire… what?”

“ _Avise alas’nirelan,_ ” he repeated. “It means ‘she who dances with fire.’”

She huffed. “Or maybe I have a death wish, like you said.”

“No, you don’t,” he said.

She bristled at how confident he sounded. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, given that we’ll be here together for some time, I will soon enough,” he replied.

His tone was irreverent once more, but his face was serious and calm. All of a sudden, she wanted to be alone. 

She stood up. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” she said, and she headed for the stairs.

“I’ll be here,” he called after her. “Washing the dishes and other charming domestic things.”

She stopped at the foot of the stairs and winced. “Fuck. I forgot to…” She gestured awkwardly at the table. “Thank you for breakfast. This was really good. That omelette was perfect.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he said with a gracious nod. “Go on. Rest your pretty head.”

She lifted an eyebrow. This was the second time he’d called her pretty, and she couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or if he was joking around. 

She eyed him suspiciously, but he was already collecting the dishes. She shrugged it off and headed to her bedroom, then closed the door and sat on the bed. 

For a while, she just sat at the edge of the bed staring vacantly at nothing in particular. It had been years now since she’d spoken of Marin to anyone. Most of her closest companions in the Inquisition knew the basics of what had happened, but only four people knew the story in detail: Cole, Varric, Cassandra, and Solas.

Cole knew because Cole knew everything. Varric knew because of his uncanny knack for getting even the most taciturn grumps to talk, including Tamaris herself. Cassandra knew because of the heart-to-heart she and Tamaris had had one night on the Storm Coast, and Tamaris still remembered that night as the moment that she and Cassandra had finally shifted from mutual suspicion to cautious friends. And Solas knew because… because Tamaris had trusted him. 

She’d trusted him. Like a fucking idiot, she’d trusted him, and he’d reciprocated that trust with empty words of love and lies of omission. 

A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently, but now that she was alone, it was like her eyes had decided to betray her; she was crying in earnest now, and she couldn’t tell what exactly was making her cry, because there were so many miserable thoughts in her head. There was Marin, with his boyish grin and his haunted green eyes and his screams for Tamaris and their parents to let him stay. There was Solas, with his shiny armour and his tragic face telling her too many belated truths and failing to convince her that he loved her. There was the qunari invasion in the north and the missing Grey Wardens and Varric’s worried little smile as he’d watched her drinking yesterday. 

And there was Felassan. Felassan, who had known Solas back when they both were young. Felassan, who had sacrificed himself to give Briala a chance to make things better for their people. 

Felassan, who didn’t know yet that Solas had taken the eluvians back from Briala. 

She closed her eyes, and another rivulet of tears ran down her face. _Fuck,_ she thought. She’d honestly meant to tell him yesterday, but then she’d needed to calm him down, and she’d completely forgotten.

She sighed and flopped onto her back, and something hard pressed into her spine: Felassan’s slightly singed ironwood rod, which she’d tucked into the back of her trousers for safekeeping. She pulled the rod out and placed it gently on her bedside table, and her eyes fell on the bottle of rum that sat there. 

There was enough left inside of it for maybe one more night of oblivion, and then she’d be out, having purposely not bought more in the market yesterday. 

She sniffled and stared morosely at the bottle for some time while the tears continued to leak out of her eyes. She could always ask Varric to bring her some more, but she could imagine his worried face only too clearly if she asked for more rum, and the thought only made her feel worse. 

She sat up and grabbed the bottle of rum. She pulled out the cork and emptied the bottle with four big gulps, then replaced the bottle on the table and settled onto her side once more. 

She closed her eyes and waited for the booze to make its way through her blood. She’d been meaning to stop drinking for some time now, ever since Bull had stopped offering her _maraas-lok_ when they were sitting around the fire at night. This was as good a time as any. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do but keep an eye on Felassan.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and her miserable thoughts gradually dulled to a tolerable feeling of melancholy. Just as she was falling asleep, a hazy image of a face drifted across her mind. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Solas. Even more surprisingly given the topic of the morning, it wasn’t Marin either.

It was Felassan. Tamaris’s sluggish mind conjured a stray thought of Felassan’s wry and sympathetic smile, and then she faded into the blissful blackness of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that not every chapter will end with Tamaris passing out drunk. The next chapter is more lighthearted, I swear.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), ever at your service. xoxo


	5. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More backstory! Please note at this point that we're going off-book for Felassan - we don't have canon information about how exactly he knows Solas, so 'tis all my imagination here.

“Is there anyone alive in there?”

Tamaris shifted sluggishly at the muffled sound of Felassan’s voice. He knocked on the door, and she winced as the sound echoed her pounding head. 

“What?” she said blearily. “Is something wrong?”

“Not if it was your plan to sleep for the entire day,” he said through the door.

She frowned, then cracked open her sore eyes. Sure enough, her bedroom was dim; it must be late afternoon. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. She honestly hadn’t meant to sleep all day. She struggled to push herself upright, but before she could fully sit up, Felassan knocked again and opened the door. 

He sauntered into her room, and she wrinkled her nose at him. “What’s the Elvhen word for ‘privacy’?”

He blinked. “It’s ‘ _edh’un_ ’. Why do you ask?”

“Just checking that there is one, since you don’t seem to know what the fuck it means,” she said sourly. “What if I’d been naked in here?”

He smirked and sat on her bed. “Just my luck that you aren’t. I can always leave and come back if you’d care to strip.”

Creators’ sakes, he was bold. Tamaris gave him an arch look. “Are you always this forward?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not unless I’m attempting to charm someone out of their secrets. That is not what’s happening here, I assure you.”

He was grinning now, but Tamaris narrowed her eyes; even in the dim late afternoon light, she could see that his ears were flushing to a darker shade.

The likely reason for his unprovoked advances suddenly occurred to her. “Are you randy because of the Tranquility cure?” she said curiously.

He barked out a laugh and stood up. “‘Randy’! _Fenedhis_ , these modern words. You really are blunt.”

“Like a dwarven warhammer, or so I’ve been told,” she said, but she recognized his evasion for what it was; he was clearly feeling awkward about his own innuendo. “If you’re hitting on me because your sex drive is out of control, I won’t hold it against you,” she said. “I’ll just ignore it.”

His grin twisted into a grimace. “I appreciate that. It… doesn’t help that it’s been a dozen years or so since I bedded anyone.”

Tamaris made a little face. “That’s rough. I’m sorry,” she said lamely. But this also explained why he’d been complimenting her earlier: it was just empty lust fuelled by the return of his volatile emotions. 

That was… good to know, really. And not in any way disappointing. It wasn’t like Tamaris was looking for anything romantic or sexual herself. Even if it had been a solid year since she’d slept with anyone, given that she’d stopped sleeping with Bull when she started working with him and the Chargers. 

She abruptly changed the subject. “What do you want, then? Did you have a reason for coming in here?”

“Yes, in fact,” he said. “I was going to invite you to have a drink and a discussion of this fine piece of literature with me.” He held up her worn copy of _This Shit Is Weird_. “But it seems that you’ve already had a drink.”

She followed his gaze to the empty rum bottle on the nightstand. “Oh,” she said. “Um, yeah.”

He chuckled. “I’m offended that you didn’t offer me any last night.”

“I’m… sorry, I guess,” she said. Her belly was starting to writhe unpleasantly; his smile was fading as he studied the empty bottle.

His gaze returned to her face. “Did you drink all of that since yesterday?”

She hunched her shoulders defensively. “No,” she muttered. “Just… most of it.”

He tilted his head, and she sighed and dragged a hand through her unruly hair. “I’m trying to stop, all right? Or… cut back, at least. But it’s hard.”

“How long have you been… wanting to stop?” he said carefully.

She shrugged irritably and rubbed at a tiny dent on her mechanical arm. “I started drinking more about… well, less than a year ago. I tried to slow down a couple months ago, but it made me feel like shit.”

Felassan shrugged and leaned casually against the wall. “Well, a wise and cranky person once told me there is no reason to believe you can’t recover and that you should take it one day at a time.”

She tried to give him an annoyed look, but she could feel her lips curling in a smile. “How dare you actually listen to me.”

His face creased into a smile, and he pushed away from the wall. “As it so happens, I might be able to help. I know of a herbal mixture that will alleviate the withdrawal, if we can get access to the herbs.” 

She gave him an incredulous look. “How is that you know herbal remedies for everything?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he said. “Especially when they wake up alone in an unfamiliar time with not enough magic and too many people who hate elves.”

She pulled a face. “Okay, fine. That’s pretty fair.” She slid her legs to the edge of the bed and stood up, and her head instantly throbbed with pain.

She winced and squeezed her temples, and Felassan took a small step toward her. “It might be prudent to eat something. I can go make—”

“No,” she said. She lowered her hands and frowned at him. “You don’t have to cook for me. You’re not a fucking servant.”

His eyebrows jumped up, and he gave her a lopsided smile. “You have quite the talent for being kind and abrasive in a single breath.”

She huffed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, I mean it. You don’t have to cook for me.”

“Do you cook?” he asked.

“I _can_ cook,” she replied.

He lifted his chin. “Are you any good at it?”

She hesitated, and he smiled. “Allow me to continue, then,” he said.

She frowned. “But—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Before you continue your strident protests, allow me to tell you an embarrassing tale.”

She exhaled. “Fine,” she said grumpily.

He tucked his hands behind his back and leaned against the wall again. “I’ll tell you of the first meal I had after my Tranquility was reversed. It was a piece of toast with butter and raspberry jam, and a wedge of plain Fereldan cheese.”

Tamaris frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said with a nod. “Very simple fare, nothing special. And it was the most exquisite thing I had ever tasted. I was in tears before I could finish the first two bites. Rhys and Minaeve had to sedate me before I could finish the meal.”

She stared at him, humbled by his story. “Fuck,” she breathed. “I’m… Felassan, I…”

He held up one hand again. “Take this in the spirit it’s intended. Allow me to cook for you. I need to enjoy the food I eat.”

His face was utterly serious. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I… all right, sure.”

He bowed his head politely and wandered out of her bedroom, and she followed him listlessly down the stairs. He hummed softly to himself as he made his way to the kitchen, and Tamaris watched as he started pulling ingredients for a salad out of the enchanted icebox and the cupboards. 

Creators, her head was pounding. She wearily hefted herself up to sit on the kitchen island and pulled a joint out of her breast pocket. She lit the joint and took a long drag, then turned her head to the side and slowly blew the smoke away from where Felassan was working. 

When she turned back to face him, however, it was to find him standing in front of her with a smirk. 

He held out his hand. “May I?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to put it out, are you?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “You wound me with that suggestion. I would never be so wasteful.” He gazed at her expectantly, and she shrugged and handed him the joint. 

He lifted it to his mouth and wet his full lower lip before closing his lips over the fine end of the joint. He took a long drag, then tilted his head thoughtfully before releasing the smoke in a series of perfect rings.

He handed the joint back to her. “Elfroot and embrium. For pain?”

“And for phantom sensations in my arm,” she said. “But it helps with the headache, too.” She took another pull from the joint. 

He nodded. “I can make you something more effective, if you’re open to a little experimentation.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “What kind of experimentation?”

He leaned casually against the counter beside her. “There’s a particular plant that grows only where the veins of stone run blue. When combined properly with embrium and elfroot, it has some rather marvelous medicinal properties.” His smirk widened. “If taken improperly, though, it drives you perfectly mad.”

She stared at him for a second, then tilted her head in exasperation. “Are you talking about deep mushroom? You’re fucking kidding.”

He laughed. “I’m not. It really is more effective than what you’re smoking now. But the choice is yours.” He pushed away from the counter and went back to cutting vegetables for the salad, and Tamaris studied him appraisingly while she smoked her joint. 

She released a puff of smoke in a slow exhale. “Do you have deep mushroom on you?”

He glanced up at her from the tomato he was slicing into wedges. “Not at the moment, unfortunately. But if we can get some, I’m sure it would benefit you.”

She eyed him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll try it. But if I get totally shitfaced, I’m holding you responsible.”

He chuckled and went back to chopping the tomato. “That won’t happen. But it would be my honour to stop you from jumping off the roof on the off chance that you should get incredibly high.”

She smirked at him. Then, on a whim, she offered him the joint. 

His eyes darted from her face to her fingers and back to her face. Then he carefully took the joint from her hand. 

Without breaking from her gaze, he lifted the joint to his lips and took a careful drag, and Tamaris watched lazily as the smoke curled from his parted lips in a hypnotic cloud. 

He brought the joint toward his mouth again, then paused. “This does nothing for me, you know,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “It was just a friendly gesture.”

He gave her a mischievous half-smile. “That’s an unusual act for you.”

She _tsk_ ed. “Shut the fuck up.”

He grinned, and Tamaris lost her breath for a moment. He really was obnoxiously good-looking, especially when he smiled. It was like the laughter went straight to his eyes and the dimple at the right corner of his mouth.

She could feel her face prickling with heat. She dropped his gaze and slid off of the kitchen island. “I’m going up to the roof,” she said gruffly. “Should I take anything up there, or…?”

“No— in fact, yes,” he said. He jerked his chin at _This Shit Is Weird_ , which was sitting on the far end of the kitchen island. “Take that book with you. I have some questions about it.”

She opened her mouth to make a snarky comment, then paused. Now that she thought about it, having Felassan read _This Shit Is Weird_ and ask her questions would be a good way to catch him up on everything he’d missed while he was enslaved by the Carta. 

“Fine,” she said. She picked up the book and made to leave the kitchen.

“Tamaris,” he said.

She turned back to face him, and he held out the end of the joint.

His expression was open and warm – warm like her cheeks. She hesitated, then reached out to take the joint. There was so little of it left that their fingers brushed together when she took it from his hand.

A shiver of heat traced down her spine. She turned away from him and quickly left the kitchen without saying anything more. 

She vaulted up the stairs and padded through her bedroom to the window. She climbed up to the roof and sat down cross-legged near the edge of the roof, then finished off the joint with one long pull.

She held the smoke and her breath for a moment — long enough to feel the unusually rapid beat of her heart — then released the smoke in a heavy sigh. “Idiot,” she muttered to herself. She’d only been alone in the house for two days with Felassan, and already she was wondering what it would be like to sleep with him. 

And she’d only been without sex for one measly year. Imagine going for a dozen years without, like Felassan had. 

_No,_ she told herself sternly. She refused to imagine it. There was nothing to imagine, because it was a terrible idea. Felassan was an emotional mess and so was she, and adding sex to the mix would just be asking for trouble. 

She extinguished the end of the joint by rubbing it out on the roof, then sighed and lifted her eyes to the sky; it was partly overcast, so the sunset wouldn’t be anything special tonight. All the same, Tamaris gazed at the horizon and enjoyed the fresh air as she imagined being on a quiet beachy coastline. 

Not long after, she heard a soft grunt from behind her. “Tamaris,” Felassan called. 

She turned to see him climbing awkwardly onto the roof with a large wooden mixing bowl in one arm. She hastily stood and hurried over to take the bowl from him, and he nodded his thanks. “I appreciate the help,” he said. “I would usually have levitated the bowl onto the roof, but I figured it best not to risk levitating the entire roof by accident.”

He was smiling, but Tamaris felt a pang of sympathy all the same. “You’ll get there,” she said.

“I hope so,” he said cheerfully. “I have always harboured a fond wish to rip the roof off of an Orlesian building, but only on purpose.”

She huffed. “That’s a wish I can share, honestly. But it’s not what I meant.”

His cheeky smile softened. “I’m aware. And you’re kind to say so.” He clapped his hands together jauntily. “Now let’s eat. The dressing is excellent, if I say so myself.” He took the bowl of salad back from her, then sat down and pulled two forks out of the pocket of his vest.

She sat beside him and took a fork. “Let me guess: the dressing has herbs in it,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “Yes, _avise_ ,” he said. “Just your average seasonings, though — nothing medicinal.”

“That’s a departure for you,” she drawled.

He smiled mischievously at her. “Once we get some deep mushroom, I could sprinkle it in if you like.”

She scoffed and stuck her fork into the salad. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Felassan said. “Deep mushroom mixed with tomatoes will make you paranoid.”

She shot him a suspicious look, but he was munching a bite of salad and looking very innocent, and she honestly couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

She shook her head and started eating. It really was an excellent salad, especially considering that he’d just used the mundane ingredients she’d bought from the market before he arrived. The Rivaini-spice roasted nuts were a nice crunchy touch, and they went well with the crumbled cheese and the sweetness of honey in the dressing he’d made. 

She enjoyed a few more bites of salad, then gave him a quizzical look. “How are you so good at putting meals together? Another hobby?”

He laughed softly. “Ah. No. I have been many things over the years, and one of them was a kitchen hand.”

Her eyes widened. “Wha— seriously?”

“Yes,” he said, and he popped a piece of lettuce in his mouth. “It was the first place I was put to work, in fact.”

She lowered her fork. “Put to work? What do you…? Wait. That sounds like…” She trailed off, and her eyes slid up to Felassan’s _vallaslin_ -lined forehead. 

He had _vallaslin_. But _vallaslin_ were slave markings in the days of ancient Arlathan. How had she not thought about this before?

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Were you a slave back in ancient Arlathan?”

“I was, yes,” he said.

“A slave of Mythal’s?” Tamaris said sharply.

He touched his forehead. “Not quite. This was a disguise. I was a spy, if you’ll recall.”

“So whose slave were you?” she asked.

He hesitated, and Tamaris winced. “Sorry, am I — I’m prying. You don’t have to answer.”

He smiled faintly. “I believe I was brought here for the express purpose of having you pry out my secrets, like a squirrel scraping the meat out of a nut.”

She gave him a frank look. “I’m not going to force you to talk about the past if it’s too painful for you.”

He finally seemed to sober a bit. “It’s not that. Not… entirely, in any case. It’s just… strange.”

“What is?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly, then smirked at her. “Not needing to lie,” he said. 

She let out a little laugh at his bluntness. “I’m glad you feel that way. I’m fucking sick of being lied to.”

“That’s certainly understandable,” he said quietly. Then he speared another forkful of salad. “To answer your question, I had the dubious honour of being born into Andruil’s household.”

“Born?” she said blankly.

“Yes, born,” he said. He grinned at her. “Don’t tell me you thought the ancient elves sprang into being fully-formed and brimming with wisdom.”

She _tsk_ ed at him, then awkwardly scratched her ear. “Kind of, actually. I don’t remember ever hearing or reading anything about ancient elvhen children. Not even in the Vir Dirthara.”

His eyes went wide. “You were in the Vir Dirthara?”

“A portion of it, yes.”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he said faintly. “That must have been…” He trailed off, then seemed to collect himself. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Yes, the ancient elves had children just the same as modern elves do. But that lovely image of the venerable elder springing into existence also is not entirely wrong.” He lifted his fork to his mouth and spoke again through his mouthful of food. “Partially wrong, but not entirely.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He swallowed, then tilted his head. “That book of Varric’s mentions a companion of yours named Cole. A spirit of compassion that took a physical form?”

“Yes,” she said. “He went back to the Fade about a year ago, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” Felassan said.

“Well, unfortunate for me,” she clarified. “We were close.” It was still possible for her to talk to Cole despite his return to the Fade, but she always felt faintly guilty at the thought of calling on him when he was helping others whose need was much greater than hers.

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “With your gift, I imagine you were close indeed.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. The only other person who had ever called her affinity for a spirits a ‘gift’ was Solas.

Felassan was still talking. “I imagine Fen’Harel was fond of him, too.”

She nearly smiled, despite herself. “Yes, very,” she said. “He was really sweet to him, almost like a mentor.” Then she frowned. “Wait. Were people like Cole common in your time?”

He smiled at her, and he looked almost satisfied. “Yes. Spirits and elves once trod the same paths with equal ease. Some spirits chose to adopt a physical form, and they were called _elgar’venathe_ — walking spirits, quite literally.”

“But _you_ were born into a body,” Tamaris said slowly.

“ _I_ was, yes,” he said.

She stared at him. Something was just occurring to her — something that she should have realized years ago, and probably would have, if she hadn’t been so angry.

She sighed and closed her eyes, then gave Felassan a weary look. “Solas is an _elgar’venathe_ , isn’t he?”

He beamed at her, then picked up his fork. “He is, yes.”

She sighed again and ran her hands through her long curly hair. “Gods, I’m so fucking stupid. How did I not realize that sooner? I’ve talked to fucking spirits since I was a child.”

He shrugged as he chewed another bite of salad. “It’s hardly your fault. Your world insists on this strict dichotomy between people and spirits. Even the Dalish consider spirits to be creatures rather than people.” He tilted his head playfully. “Mystical little creatures made from the Fade, floating along to tempt you into foolishness.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re pretty forgiving of my stupidity, considering that I’m Dalish.”

“Well, I am stuck in this house with you,” he said casually. “Offending you is probably a bad idea.”

She shot him a flat look, and he gave her another of those breathtaking smiles. Tamaris quickly dropped his gaze and took another big bite of salad, and they continued eating together in silence.

When the salad was gone, she placed her fork in the empty bowl and stretched her legs out. “So Solas was a spirit,” she said.

“He was, yes,” Felassan said.

“But…” She paused and frowned, and Felassan tilted his head quizzically.

“But ‘ _Solas_ ’ means ‘pride’,” she said cautiously.

“Yes, it does,” he said.

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at him, but he wasn’t looking at her; he was looking up at the bruised and cloudy sky. 

“But pride is the corrupted version of wisdom,” she said.

He finally looked at her, and his face was a picture of skepticism. “Who told you that? The Chantry?”

She frowned. “No. Solas did.”

“He told you…” His expression went blank for a moment, then twisted into a smile. He let out a little laugh and looked up at the purpling sky. “He told you that?”

“Yes,” she said warily. “He said that one way that spirits are twisted into demons is when people’s fucked-up wishes and desires force them to become other than what they were meant to be.”

“That is…” He sighed. “That is true here, yes. But it was different in our time.”

“How?” she asked.

He ran a hand over his hair before replying. “The word ‘demon’: it did not exist in Elvhenan,” he told her. “I was extremely confused by it when I first woke up here. There are spirits that embody virtues that people judge as good, and those that they judge as bad. Pride can be good when it boosts confidence. Sorrow can be good when it draws comfort from others. Desire can be…” He let out a soft sort of laugh that made her heart skip a beat. “I don’t think I need to explain to you why desire can be good. But this idea of villainous demons is entirely premised on your modern Chantry.”

“It’s not _my_ Chantry,” she said in a hard tone. “I think Andrastianism is bullshit.”

“I don’t mean you in particular,” he said in an unusually sharp tone. “I mean…” He trailed off and let out a tired laugh. “ _Fen’Harel ma ghilana._ ”

 _Fen’Harel ma ghilana: the Dread Wolf guides you._ Tamaris frowned. The Dalish said this when someone had been misled or tricked into doing something foolish. But did Felassan mean it the same way?

“Are you saying he lied to me about the nature of spirits?” she demanded.

“No,” he said. “Not at all. The Veil has made things complicated for spirits, and he explained it to you in terms that you would understand.”

“So he was once a spirit of pride,” Tamaris pressed. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“He is a stubborn old ass,” Felassan snapped. “That is what I’m saying.”

She recoiled at the ferocity of his tone, but she couldn’t disagree. “Yeah, he is,” she said.

Felassan looked at her. His face was creased with anger, but the moment he met her eye, Tamaris was struck by a sudden and dizzying feeling of complicity.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Tamaris could feel her heart thudding in her ears. Then Felassan’s face melted into a smile, and he started laughing.

And to Tamaris’s surprise, she started laughing too. 

She rubbed her mouth and tried to stop, but she couldn’t help it; Felassan’s laughter was infectious, like a bubbling river of joy sweeping her own grimness out from under her, and soon she was laughing so uninhibitedly that her eyes were watering. When he let out an undignified little snort of mirth, it only made her laugh harder. 

She curled her arm over her stomach. “S-stop,” she gasped. “It’s not fucking funny.”

“It really isn’t,” he wheezed, and he kept on laughing. 

A helpless minute later, Tamaris wiped her eyes and dragged in a wheezy breath. Felassan was stretched out on his back with a broad grin, and when Tamaris looked over at him, he chuckled. “I knew you would laugh with me sooner or later,” he said smugly. He tucked his arms behind his head. “Of everything that’s happened in the past three months, making you laugh yourself to tears is probably my greatest achievement.”

She scoffed, but she couldn’t be bothered to hide her smile. “You set a low bar for achievement, then.”

He hummed lazily. “It’s a wonder that there’s a bar at all, really.”

She felt a bit guilty at this. She looked over at him to find him smiling still, but his eyes were on the darkening sky.

She slowly lay down on her back beside him. He glanced at her as she stretched out, but she kept her eyes on the sky, and for a while they lay on the roof in silence with the empty salad bowl between them. 

He eventually broke the silence. “Did you love him?”

Her belly jolted. It was a hugely personal question, and if he’d asked this even yesterday, she probably would have bitten his head off. But for some reason, she didn’t mind him asking this today.

“I thought I did,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t really know him. Just the pieces he deigned to show me.” She paused for a moment as little memories of Solas drifted across her mind: his tender smile when they were alone, and the aloofness in his face when he was reading in his study. His mild-mannered humility, and the flashes of haughtiness that she’d once thought so discordant with his usual manner. The heated arguments they had, and the even more heated sex that followed them. His sadness that he never satisfactorily explained, and his secrets that he only deemed her worthy of hearing when it was two years too late. 

She took a slow breath to try and lighten the heavy feeling in her chest. “I thought I loved him,” she said. “But I loved a version of him that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“I can understand that,” he said softly.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his eyes were still on the sky. 

Then something occurred to her. She didn’t know Felassan’s history with Solas or how far back it went, but the way he’d been laughing with her just a moment ago, and the serious look on his face right now… 

“Felassan,” she said softly, “did _you_ love him?”

He turned his head to look at her, and there was something about his smile that twisted her heart. He looked up at the sky once more. “I loved him in the way that a young man loves the person who saved him from drowning.” 

Her belly jumped with surprise. She rolled onto her side to face him. “Did he free you from Andruil’s household?”

“He did,” Felassan said. “That was when he called himself pride and meant it.” He let out a soft little laugh. “I was young and newly free, and I loved him fiercely. Sadly, that love was unrequited. It’s understandable, I suppose; I am over a thousand years younger than he, after all. Although…” He gave her a considering look, then chuckled and turned his face back to the sky. “Regardless, it’s of little consequence. It was youthful infatuation more than anything else. We became close friends eventually — or we _were_ friends, for a time, back when Fen’Harel still trusted those that he called his friends. But we never shared what he had with you.”

Tamaris scoffed. “I wasn’t special to him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

He looked at her once more, and a crooked sort of smile lifted his lips. “You can’t be that naive.”

“He’s willing to let me die in the course of whatever fucked-up plans he has,” she said roughly. “To him, I’m no different than anyone else in this world.”

His smile softened. “I take your point. And yet…” 

“What?” she demanded.

He gazed at her for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Nothing really. Nothing of use, in any case. Just the idle musings of a broken arrow.”

“He didn’t break you,” she said fiercely. “You’re not fucking broken.”

He shot her a sharp look, and her heart did a little flip; his strange violet eyes were intense and very serious. “Neither are you,” he said quietly.

She pursed her lips, but she couldn’t very well contradict him without sounding like a hypocrite. She settled onto her back once more, and a moment later, Felassan let out a contented little sigh. “Well, here we are, two non-broken people who once loved a man who seeks to bring chaos down on the world. There’s a lesson here if we look hard enough.”

“Don’t trust handsome ancient elves?” Tamaris said sardonically.

Felassan barked out a laugh. “If that’s the lesson, then you should probably throw me off the roof right now. Unless you don’t think I’m handsome, which would be disappointing.”

She could see his irreverent smile from the corner of her eye. She scoffed and kept her eyes firmly on the sky. “Shut up, Felassan.”

“I don’t hear a denial there,” he sing-songed.

She forced herself not to smile. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” she informed him.

He laughed again — a supremely smug sound. “I look forward to seeing how long your resolve will last.”

 _Brat,_ she thought, but with no real ire. She let out a leisurely sigh and gazed up at the sky. For a while, they simply lay on the roof gazing up at the twilight-darkened sky, and Tamaris gradually realized that this was the most relaxed she’d felt in months.

As she lay on the roof of her gaudy Hightown mansion with Felassan breathing peacefully beside her, it slowly dawned on her that this was the most at peace she’d felt in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be posting two chapters a week for the next little bit. Next one maybe... Sunday...?
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone fancies dropping by. xoxo


	6. The Vagaries of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Your enthusiasm!! Your comments!!! 😭❤❤❤ I will reply to all soon, but it's FINALLY not so hot where I live that I can actually think, so I have to take advantage of this boon to write while my brain is not melting. 😂😭
> 
> Today's chapter featuring a beautiful commission from [Lethendralis on Tumblr!](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/) Guys, look at Felassan. Just look at him. [DROOLS]

Tamaris scraped her hair back from her face. “...and he was all, ‘we must be beyond reproach and give them no reason to think we’re suspicious even though the orb is elvhen.’ And that’s when he mentioned Skyhold. We spent the next three days tromping through the snow, and then there it was: an entire fucking castle in the middle of the Frostback Mountains that nobody knew about.” She tapped her fingers moodily on the open copy of _This Shit Is Weird_. “So yeah, what Varric described was pretty accurate, minus the stuff Solas only said to me.”

“Interesting,” Felassan said. He pushed the book aside and placed a plate in front of her. “And the part about the fledgling Inquisition singing your praises to the heavens, quite literally?” He shot her a grin as he started spooning food onto her plate. “Was that accurate too, or a colourful embellishment?”

She groaned, and Felassan laughed brightly. “Oh, no.” 

“Oh, yes,” she drawled. “They sang me a Chantry hymn. A Chantry hymn to praise the most non-Andrastian elf in the fucking Inquisition.”

“Non-Andrastian because you believed in the elvhen gods instead?” he asked. 

She shot him a hard look, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. After a moment, Tamaris sighed again. “Fine, all right, yes. I did.” She gave him another resentful look. “As much as anyone can believe in a bunch of ‘gods’ who are either ignoring their people’s prayers or who got trapped by a tricky wolf.” 

Felassan smiled faintly, then spooned another poached egg onto Tamaris’s plate. She waved irritably for him to stop. “Quit it, will you? Sit down. I can serve myself.”

“Can you?” Felassan said. “Or will you eat straight from the pan given half a chance?” 

She eyed him flatly without replying. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. “Don’t give me a hard time,” she retorted. “I saw you eating grapes straight from the icebox yesterday. You didn’t want to put them in a fancy serving bowl first?”

He _tsk_ ed at her sarcastic tone. “There’s a difference between being hedonistic and being slovenly. But fine, since you insist.” He set the pan down in front of her, then picked up a piece of toast and tossed it carelessly onto her plate before taking another piece of toast for himself and sitting beside her.

He leisurely kicked his feet up on the table and bit into his toast, and Tamaris watched him with a combination of amusement and exasperation. He carried himself with such elegant confidence, almost like a noble with no doubt about his place in court. It seemed so incongruent with his humble beginnings as a slave in Andruil’s household.

He swallowed his bite of toast, then raised a roguish eyebrow. “Enjoying the view, are you?” 

She ignored his playful flirt. “You’re strange.” 

He smirked. “It takes a special sort of mind to see its reflection in the eyes of another.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, yes, I’m strange too. I just mean…” _You don’t act like someone who used to be a slave,_ she thought. Not that she had met many people who had lived most of their lives as slaves, in truth. The only former slave she’d spent any real time around was Hawke’s husband Fenris, so maybe her expectations were biased by how taciturn and unsmiling he was during his and Hawke’s brief travels with them – when Hawke wasn’t teasing and flirting with him, at least. 

She tried to find a more tactful way to state her thoughts. “I wouldn’t have known you were a slave if you hadn’t told me,” she said.

“Because I don’t act like one, you mean?” he said, and he took another bite of toast.

 _Fuck,_ she thought. She should have known he would guess what she was really thinking. “Yeah,” she admitted. “That’s a shitty thing to think, I know.” 

“I’m curious now how you think slaves are supposed to act,” he said. “Should I be crawling on the floor beneath your feet? Making myself unheard and unseen as I walk around your mansion trying to pretend I don’t exist?”

His tone was laced with humour, but Tamaris didn’t smile. “Nobody should have to act that way,” she said quietly.

His impish smile softened. “You’re right; they shouldn’t. And there was once a time when I walked with my head bowed and my eyes on the ground. But eyes on the ground does not mean that those eyes are closed. Silent servants are the ones who hear the most. Nobles always seem to forget this, whether their ears are pointed or round. You’d think they’d learn eventually, but…” He shrugged and took another bite of toast.

Tamaris nodded thoughtfully. Sera had often said the same thing, in her annoyingly roundabout sort of way.

“In any case, I haven’t been a slave for several millennia,” Felassan said. “I have, however, been many other things over the course of many years.”

“You mentioned that before,” Tamaris said.

“It is the truth, and not just for me,” he said. “After all, were you always as you are now? A–” 

“A bitch?” Tamaris helpfully supplied.

He grinned, but went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “A warrior with sharp edges and a soft heart? An elf with eyes that are far older than the rest of her face? A woman who dances with fire?”

She stared at him for a long moment with her heart in her throat. He was smiling still, but there was something intense about his catlike amethyst eyes – and something unnervingly warm. 

Her belly was wriggling – and not in an unpleasant way. She dropped her eyes to her plate and picked up her fork. “Get your fucking feet off the table while I’m eating.” 

Felassan chuckled and slowly shifted his feet back to the ground. “By all means, eat. It’s better when it’s hot.” 

Tamaris eyed the breakfast Felassan had made. He’d poached some eggs in a pan of savoury sauce made from tomatoes, sweet peppers, onions and red wine, drizzled with olive oil and flavoured with something that smelled sweet and spicy at the same time – some interesting herbal mixture, probably, knowing him. The dish was actually semi-familiar to her, thanks to some strings Josephine had pulled to get a Nevarran chef to Skyhold for one of her fancy formal dinners, but the spicy scent and the vibrant crimson of the sauce weren’t quite what she remembered. 

“This is a dish from Nevarra, isn’t it?” she asked him. 

He raised an eyebrow and swallowed another bite of toast. “Would it shock you if I said it was an ancient Elvhen dish that the Nevarrans stole?”

She lifted her eyebrows slightly, then scoffed and dipped the tines of her fork into the sauce. “Not at all.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Ah. Shame. Because it’s not.”

She gave him an exasperated look, and he chuckled. “The Nevarrans didn’t steal this dish, but we had something very much like it in Arlathan. Not surprising, really, given how simple it is to make. Although the spices–”

Tamaris cut in. “Let me guess. Your own special herbal mixture?”

He tutted. “So dismissive! I heard no complaints from you last night when you were inhaling that salad.”

She opened her mouth to make a snappy remark, then paused. “Okay, fine, that salad was really good,” she admitted.

“So is this,” he said, and he tapped the edge of her plate. “Now eat. You look like you need it.”

“I look like death warmed over, you mean,” she grumbled. Last night was the first night in some time that she hadn’t drunk herself to sleep – a fact that her persistent headache and nausea were not-so-kindly reminding her of. 

“Such bluntness is your hallmark, not mine,” he said airily. “Besides, I would never speak such a lie.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Yes you would. You were a spy.”

“I _was_ , but no longer,” he said. “Now I can say whatever I want. For example, that you look perfectly alluring despite your sickly pallor.” 

She _tsk_ ed. “You’re so full of shit.” Even more irritating was the fact that Felassan looked like the picture of health. His tawny skin was glowing and his glossy hair was pulled back in a tidy tail at his nape, which only made Tamaris more aware of her own untamed curls. And he was so fucking _chipper._

He chuckled and took another bite of toast. “Eat, Tamaris. It’ll help.” He picked up _This Shit Is Weird_ and kicked his feet back up on the table.

She eyed his feet hopelessly. _I give up,_ she thought, then took a bite of egg.

It was, of course, delicious: savoury and sweet and creamy from the perfectly runny egg yolk. And spicy.

 _Very_ spicy. 

Tamaris cleared her throat, then sucked in a breath. “Damn, this is hot.”

“Too hot for you?” he said slyly.

“No, actually,” she retorted. “I love it. It’ll kick my headache right out.” She dipped her toast in the sauce and bit it with relish.

He bowed his head politely. “I’m sorry to hear you’re still having a headache. With any luck, we can get our hands on the herbs I need to make that tea.”

She swallowed her toast and shrugged. “Varric will probably show up today to see if I’m dead, so we can ask him to get what you need.” She took another bite of eggs and sauce.

“It is a shame that I can’t collect the herbs myself,” Felassan said. “They’re more potent when they’re fresh.”

“Varric said we can get anything in this city if you look in the right places,” Tamaris told him. “He can get your herbs fresh if that’s what you need.”

Felassan nodded. “Of course.”

She looked at him. He was gazing at the fire, and his expression was slightly wistful. 

Before Tamaris could ask what was wrong, he turned to her with a mischievous smile. “So. Skyhold. What did you think of Fen’Harel’s beloved fortress?”

She swallowed her eggs and gave him an odd look. “Why do you call him Fen’Harel?”

He tilted his head quizzically, so she elaborated. “You call Solas ‘Fen’Harel’. But he told me that Fen’Harel was an insult from his enemies.”

Felassan laughed. “Ah, the vagaries of names. Fen’Harel was an insult seeded by the Evanuris and their followers, yes, but he relished in it at first. ‘They should bear dread for me,’ he said, ‘for it’s through my forces that their atrocities will be laid to rest.’” He gave her a knowing look. “Pride once took great pride in the title of the Rebel Wolf.”

Tamaris frowned. “ _Rebel_ Wolf?”

He smiled faintly. “Words change, as do people and their places in time. It makes sense, really. I can understand how the word ‘rebel’ became twisted with negative connotations due to long association with the mighty gods’ greatest detractor and foe.”

His tone was irreverent, but Tamaris frowned thoughtfully as she considered what Solas had told her a year ago. “Rebel Wolf… yes, I can see that.”

Felassan nodded. “Fen’Harel proudly adopted the insult as his informal title among our ranks. It bolstered courage among our people, and importantly, it allowed us to laugh at our foes. Ridicule can be a powerful weapon against those who hold themselves in such high esteem. But those of us who called ourselves his friends still called him Solas, for pride is who he was to us.”

Tamaris scoffed. She’d suddenly remembered the way Solas had once described himself to Blackwall. “Young, cocky, and ready to fight?” she drawled.

Felassan smiled slowly. “He said that, did he?”

“Not directly to me, but yes.”

He shook his head and let out a soft little laugh. “Yes, that’s… that is exactly who he was, once, and it was glorious. But as time wore on and the Evanuris’s tactics grew more vicious, Solas became…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not disheartened per se, but… serious. He was no longer quick to laugh like he once was. His title and its insult began to chip away at him. So _I_ began calling him Fen’Harel.”

“Why?” Tamaris asked.

Felassan blinked. “To cheer him up, of course.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You insulted him to cheer him up?”

“Of course,” Felassan said. “It cheers me up when you roast me.”

She laughed despite herself. “I don’t roast you.”

He smiled. “My humorously wounded feelings would say otherwise. But yes, I called him Fen’Harel in jest, but also to remind him what it meant to those of us who followed him and fought for his cause. He was the young and uppity Rebel Wolf to the Evanuris and their ilk, but to us, he was the man who snatched us from the jaws of slavery and, for many, of a certain and ugly death.” He waved his hand in an elegant gesture. “So yes: I called him Fen’Harel as a reminder of all that he was trying to achieve.” He shot her a wry little smirk. “Perhaps it was too effective a reminder, given the position we now find ourselves in.”

“You feel sorry for him,” Tamaris said.

She realized belatedly how accusatory she sounded, but it was too late; the words were out, and Felassan was gazing at her with a rather contemplative look on his face.

“Don’t you?” he said.

“No,” she said instantly. “I feel sorry for everyone in this world that he’s trying to murder for no good reason.”

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement, but Tamaris wasn’t finished. “He was only awake in this world for one year before deciding there was nothing of value in it. And then he spent another entire year with us, and he still has so much disdain for us that he’s going to try and kill us all?”

“It is not a matter of disdain for your people that drives him,” Felassan told her. “It’s a matter of guilt for ours.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” she snapped. “And you — you’re from his time, and you still purposely fucked up his plans. You must think there’s something of value in this time.”

Felassan slowly ran a hand over his hair. “I understand change better than Fen’Harel does,” he said.

“But you think there’s something of value here,” she pushed.

“I think there is value to be found everywhere, if you look in the right places,” he said.

“Then how can you feel sorry for him?” Tamaris demanded. “He tried to kill you, for fuck’s sake. How can you feel sorry for someone who was once your friend, _betraying_ you like this?” 

He looked her in the eye, and Tamaris scowled. He was wearing that soft and world-weary look again – the one that smacked of thousands of years of life and knowledge and war.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. 

His eyebrows rose. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a fucking child,” she said in a hard voice. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

He frowned slightly. Then he reached out and lifted her chin with a gentle hand.

“Do not mistake my sympathy for a lack of anger,” he said quietly. “You know that it is possible to harbour both.”

She couldn’t reply; her mouth was suddenly dry. Her chest was jangling, partly from the delicacy of Felassan’s fingers on her chin, but mostly at the ferocity in his eyes. His odd violet eyes were so bright and clear, and Tamaris couldn’t tell if the uncanny light in them was from conviction or from a hint of untapped magic.

She took a deep and slightly shaky breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad I’m not the only angry one.” 

Felassan stared at her without replying, and she gazed helplessly back at him. She still couldn’t decide if his eyes were actually glowing, or if it was the fierceness of his expression that was taking her breath away.

Then his lips started to slowly curl at the corners. By the time his face was lit with that full breathtaking smile, her heart was pounding in her ears. 

She swallowed hard. “Keep it in your pants, Felassan,” she breathed. 

His smile curled into something wicked, and a tantalizing rush of heat raced down her throat and into her chest. 

Then someone knocked on the front door.

Tamaris jumped, and Felassan’s hand fell away from her face. Then Varric’s voice called through the door. “Hey, Cuddles. You alive in there?”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Cuddles?” 

She curled her lip at him, then rose from her chair and went to open the door. 

Varric sidled inside, and his eyes darted over her face. “You okay? Hey, it smells good in here.”

“You’re just in time for breakfast,” Tamaris said. She gave Varric a long-suffering look and lowered her voice. “He cooks.”

Varric gave her an odd look. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“No,” Tamaris muttered petulantly.

He raised one eyebrow, then turned to Felassan, who had wandered over to join them and was leaning casually against the doorjamb. Varric held out his hand. “Hey there. Varric Tethras, reluctant Viscount of this fair city-state.” 

Felassan bowed his head graciously and shook Varric’s hand. “I am Felassan. Former Tranquil and current victim to Tamaris’s dubious hospitality.”

Varric snorted a laugh, but Tamaris straightened with indignation. “‘Dubious hospitality’?” she said archly. “I told you this house is yours as much as mine!”

“And you got mad at me for reading Varric’s excellent book,” he said.

“That you stole from my pack!” she exclaimed.

Felassan shrugged elegantly. “A minor detail. Varric, come and eat. Tamaris, yours is cold now.”

“It’s cold because you won’t stop talking to let me eat,” she complained.

Felassan tutted. “Always so focused on the details,” he said. He shot Varric a smirk, then sauntered toward the kitchen.

Tamaris grumbled in annoyance, then turned to Varric. “Look, he’s actually a really good cook. Do you…” She trailed off; Varric was giving her a funny look.

She frowned. “What?” 

He continued to eye her shrewdly. “Remind me how long he’s been here?” 

“Three days,” she said. “Why?”

Varric’s eyebrows rose even higher. Then he chuckled and shook his head. “Andraste’s ass. I know how this story ends.”

She scowled. “What the fuck are you on about?”

He patted her elbow. “Nothing, elf. I am hungry, though.” He made his way toward the dining table, and Tamaris grumpily followed him.

Varric took a seat across from Tamaris’s now-cold breakfast. “So you’re okay then? Not, uh, sick?”

She sat down and picked up her fork. “I’m good. I’m going to stop drinking.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s… yeah, that’s probably good.”

She nodded brusquely. “It helps that I ran out of hard liquor,” she said. She took a bite of egg and gave Varric what she hoped was a reassuring half-smile. She still had some wine and beer in the house, but it seemed likely that Felassan would use it in his cooking at some point.

Varric returned her smile, and Tamaris felt a pang of guilt at the obvious relief in his face. A moment later, Felassan wandered out of the kitchen with a clean plate and utensils for Varric. 

He set them in front of Varric, who raised his eyebrows. “Hey, thanks,” he said. He peered at the pan of eggs and sauce with interest. “Is this…? It looks like that Nevarran dish.”

“It is a similar dish,” Felassan said. “And there’s coffee in the kitchen if you’re in need.”

“I’m surprised you’re not offering him tea,” Tamaris said snidely. 

Felassan grinned at her as he made his way around the table. “Don’t worry, Tamaris. My special teas are just for you.”

She rolled her eyes and took a vicious bite of toast. Felassan draped himself lazily in the chair beside her and smiled at Varric. “It is good to meet you. As our lovely hostess mentioned, I have been reading your book. I was just asking her what she thought of Skyhold.”

Varric chuckled and helped himself to breakfast. “Oh, I’m sure she had a lot to say about it.”

Felassan grinned at Tamaris. “Do you, now? I imagine it must have been quite the shocking change from your aravels.”

She swallowed a mouthful of toast and egg. “Hey, I like aravels, all right?” she said defensively. “They’re homey. And I like sleeping outside, too, if you want to make fun of me for that.”

“I’m sure I will, eventually,” he said pleasantly. “Now come, tell me what you thought of Fen’Harel’s stronghold.”

She shrugged and took another bite of eggs. “It was a good headquarters for the Inquisition.”

Felassan nodded. “It is an excellent headquarters for an organization to grow its power, yes. What else?”

“It was…” She shrugged irritably. It had been a year since she’d lived in Skyhold, and everything felt so different then compared to now. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It was fine.”

“Fine?” Felassan chuckled. “I’m sure Fen’Harel was disgruntled by that assessment.”

Tamaris scowled and took another bite of her food. Then Varric spoke to Felassan. “She was like a nervous cat for the first week we were there. And every time something got renovated and the castle got nicer, it was like she got nervous all over again.”

Felassan laughed brightly, and Tamaris shot Varric a resentful look. “I’m a simple girl with simple tastes, all right? I don’t like fancy shit. I’m not used to it.”

Varric smiled. “Hence the Avvar decor in the Great Hall.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Although that also had the benefit of pissing Vivienne off.”

Varric chuckled. Then Felassan addressed him once more. “Your book mentioned that Solas had a preference for the rotunda. Is that correct?”

Varric nodded. “He painted huge murals on the walls, like the ones in that Shattered Library place.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “So the murals are still intact there as well? Interesting.”

Tamaris pushed her empty plate away. “Did Solas spend most of his time in the rotunda back in the olden days too?”

Felassan shot her a chiding smirk — likely at her irreverent reference to the ‘olden days’. “Some, but not most. The rotunda is where he gave his rousing speeches.”

Varric huffed in amusement. “He gave rousing speeches? I can’t see it.”

“I can,” Tamaris said quietly.

Felassan nodded and lifted his feet onto the table. “Oh, he was very inspiring. But the rotunda was likely much larger in our time than it is now.”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris asked.

“The fortress you lived in can’t possibly be the same as the one we knew,” he explained. “The original fortress was a thorough melding of the magical and the mundane. The castle you occupied was likely built in parts and pieces over many ages.”

She stared at him. She felt stupid for not having thought of this before, because it made perfect sense. Of course Skyhold couldn’t be the exact same building as the one from thousands of years ago, especially if it was originally a merging of the Fade and the real world like the Vir Dirthara was.

Varric, meanwhile, seemed unsurprised. “Yeah, that makes sense. Gatsi — our head stonemason — he said the castle was a mishmash of styles and stone from different places and eras.”

“But Skyhold _felt_ like a whole,” Tamaris put in. “Even if it was a mishmash, it didn’t feel like one. It felt like it was supposed to be as it was. It felt… It didn’t feel like a patchwork or anything.” She wrinkled her nose. “I… It’s hard to explain what I mean. It felt—” 

“It felt like safety. Didn’t it?” Felassan said. “It felt like coming home.”

She looked at him sharply. “Yes,” she said. “It… it took a while, but yes. It did.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “A lingering quality of Fen’Harel’s magic in the foundations. Skyhold was a refuge for freed slaves as well as a fortress. It too played many roles over time — including beyond our time, clearly.”

She frowned thoughtfully as she pulled a joint of elfroot and embrium from her shirt pocket. “It’s where he made the Veil, isn’t it? Or triggered it or whatever.” She lit the joint and took a drag from it, then blew the smoke over her shoulder before looking at Felassan.

He was staring at her intently. She blinked at him. “What? What’s wrong?”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

She frowned. “It’s… he practically told me. He said the castle was named ‘ _Tarasyl’an te’las_ ’ back in your time. ‘The place where the sky was held back.’” She huffed and lifted the joint to her mouth. “In retrospect, he obviously meant the Veil, but hindsight is perfect and all that.”

“When did he tell you that?” Felassan said. He reached for the joint in her fingers, and she handed it to him.

“When he was still with the Inquisition,” she said. “We’d been living there for… I don’t know, maybe eight months. We had a bunch of scholars studying the castle just for interest’s sake, and he told me that little tidbit and said I could pass it on to them.”

Felassan released a mouthful of smoke. “He told you that while he was still with you? _Fenedhis_.” He shook his head and smiled. “He really wanted you to figure it out, didn’t he?”

She gave him a skeptical look. “His whole ‘not telling me shit’ thing would say otherwise,” she drawled. She reached for the joint, and Felassan took another quick drag before handing it back to her.

“Truly, I’m shocked at how much he revealed to you,” he said. “There was only a handful of us who called the castle by that name, and only then when times were so desperate that the Veil was all he could think to do.”

She blinked. “Really? What did you call it before that?” She tucked the joint at the corner of her lips for safekeeping and started gathering the dishes.

Felassan barked out a laugh. “Oh, nothing nearly so lyrical as _Tarasyl’an te’las_.”

She paused and looked at him. “Come on, tell me.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I can’t tell you what we called it.”

“Why the fuck not?” she demanded.

He waved his hand in an expansive gesture. “We once prided ourselves on our wonderful use of metaphor. The castle’s common name was… not very poetic.”

She gave him a flat look. “Just tell me.”

He sighed. “Twist my arm, why don’t you. We called it _Arla’fen._ ”

She frowned and took a slow pull from the joint, then lifted it away from her lips. “‘Home of the wolf’? That’s it?”

He rose to his feet and continued collecting the dishes. “It meant ‘the wolf’s den.’”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then snorted. “That sounds like a place where a bunch of rowdy boys gather together to watch each other getting into fighting matches.”

“And wouldn’t that be undignified,” Felassan said without turning around. 

She stared at him, then smiled slowly. “That’s exactly what you did, isn’t it? You and your rebel buddies would have fighting matches for fun.”

He smirked at her over his shoulder. “I told you it was not very poetic.”

She could feel her smile growing wider by the moment. “Did you howl at each other like wolves too?” she said.

“It is possible that there was some howling involved,” he said in a dignified manner.

She laughed, and Felassan grinned at her as he finished stacking the dirty dishes. “Well, if you’ve finished roasting me, I’ll go to the kitchen to deal with these.”

“This is hardly a roast,” she said. “When I decide to roast you, you’ll know.” She lifted the joint to her lips once more.

Felassan reached out and plucked it from her lips. “I’ll look forward to it, _avise._ ” He placed the joint between his own lips and smirked at her, then picked up the dishes and walked away.

She huffed in amusement and shook her head, then plopped down in her chair again and looked at Varric.

His chin was propped on one fist, and his eyebrows were raised. Tamaris gave him a flat look. “Come on, Varric, out with the judgment. Let’s hear it.”

“What was that he called you?” Varric asked. “‘ _Avise_ ’?”

“It means ‘fire’,” Tamaris said. “Or ‘flame’.” She shrugged. “It’s a long and stupid story.”

Varric didn’t bat an eye. “He’s got a nickname for you?”

“ _You_ have a nickname for me,” she pointed out.

“I’ve known you for four years,” Varric said.

“You started calling me ‘Cuddles’ two days after we met!” she exclaimed.

He tilted his head, and Tamaris folded her arms. “So what then? Do you want to chaperone us? Feel free to move in. Mythal knows this fucking place is big enough.”

Varric sat back in his chair. “No no, I won’t interrupt. Just… be careful, huh?”

She softened. He was just trying to be a good friend. “Seriously, don’t worry,” she assured him. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re both too fucked up.”

Varric frowned slightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing okay.”

She shrugged, and Varric leaned toward her. “Seriously. It’s good that you’re going to cut back on the drinking. We were all a little… well.”

“You were worried,” she mumbled. “I know. I get it.”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair again. “Just looking out for you, Cuddles.”

She _tsk_ ed at the nickname, and Varric smiled and stood up. “Well, I just wanted to check in since I hadn’t heard from you. I should probably get back to the Keep. Bran will be getting tired of running my meetings by now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You had meetings this morning?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t really need to be there, though. Besides, when you miss meetings, people think you’re all the busier, and they’re less likely to try and bother you unless it’s really urgent.”

Tamaris scowled. “If that’s true, why did Josephine always insist that I had to be at every fucking meeting?”

He chuckled. “Don’t ask me. I wasn’t one of your advisors.” He started to make his way toward the door.

Tamaris stood up. “Oh hey, hang on a second. Can you get supplies for us while we’re cooped up here?”

He glanced up at her in surprise. “Cooped up? Why can’t you leave?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Felassan to be alone until he gets a better handle on his magic,” she said quietly. 

Varric’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Shit, yeah, okay. What do you need?”

“We made a list,” she said, and she reached into her pocket. “It’s right…” She trailed off and rifled around in her pockets for a second. “Fuck, where is it? Felassan!”

He poked his head out of the kitchen. “You bellowed?”

“Do you have the supply list?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. He came out of the kitchen and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, which he handed to Varric. “Are you leaving already?” he asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Varric said. “Viscount duty calls.” 

“That is a shame,” Felassan said. “I was hoping to hear some of your stories first-hand. Your lovely ex-Inquisitor is not the strongest weaver of tales.”

Tamaris tutted. “Excuse me. Who’s roasting whom here?”

Felassan smiled at her, and Varric chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back and I’ll tell you some stories then. Let’s see what you’ve got here…” He unfolded the parchment and peered at it. “Hmm. Yeah, this is… oh, black lotus, huh? And deep mushroom, all fresh? That’ll be tricky. But I know a guy. Might be a couple days, though.”

Felassan bowed his head politely. “Your effort is appreciated, truly. More by Tamaris than myself.”

Varric looked at Tamaris. “This is for you? Why?”

She shrugged. “Withdrawal. He’s going to make me some kind of fancy tea.”

“Oh, yeah. You mentioned that.” He looked at Felassan. “You a healer?”

Felassan waved dismissively. “More of an amateur herbalist.”

“Not amateur,” Tamaris protested. “You have herbs for everything.”

He smiled at her. “I do believe that was almost a compliment,” he said, and he gave her a small but still somehow mocking bow. 

She rolled her eyes, then paused and looked him over. “Hang on. Where’s my joint?”

“I finished it,” he said.

She slumped in exasperation. “But it doesn’t even do anything for you!”

“It held the sweetness of your lips,” he said. “That’s more than enough for me.”

Varric’s eyebrows leapt up, and Tamaris winced internally. _Fuck,_ she thought. Now Varric was really going to worry about something brewing between her and Felassan.

Before either she or Varric could speak, Felassan took a step back. “Varric, it was a pleasure,” he said warmly. “I look forward to your next visit.” He turned and made his way back to the kitchen, but not before Tamaris noticed the tips of his ears turning pink. 

A pang of sympathy twisted her heart. He clearly hadn’t meant to say that comment about her lips out loud.

That also meant he didn’t really mean it, which was for the best.

She turned to Varric, whose eyebrows were almost buried in his hairline. “He’s just… it’s the Tranquility cure,” she explained lamely. “He’s all over the place. It’s not… he doesn’t mean it.”

A sudden image intruded in her mind: Felassan’s fingers on her chin and his wickedly heated smile. 

She ignored the memory. _He didn’t mean it,_ she thought. Varric, meanwhile, was still eyeing her skeptically. 

“Uh-huh,” he said, and he turned toward the door. “I’ll check on you every couple days, and I’ll have Bran set you up with a raven so you can send letters if you need something sooner.”

“Sure,” she said, and she followed him to the door. As he stepped outside, however, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

He looked askance at her, and she gave him a serious look. “Listen, Varric, I didn’t come here to be a burden on you,” she said. “I didn’t… this is a pain in your ass. Checking on us and bringing supplies and shit. I – you’re busy with all your other responsibilities, I know, and I just wanted—”

“Hey,” he cut her off gently. “Don’t worry about it. Maker knows you did enough for us over the past few years.”

She nodded and awkwardly ran a hand through her hair. “Just… thanks, okay? I really appreciate it.”

He patted her metal elbow. “I know, Cuddles. Don’t worry about it. Just take some time to look after yourself. Things’ll be busy once you’re ready to get back into it.”

She sighed. His reminder about the tenuous situation in the world was fair but unpleasant. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Thanks again.”

He smiled faintly. “See you in a couple days,” he said. He waved casually and walked away, and Tamaris returned to the house.

Felassan was finishing the cleanup in the kitchen. When she sidled into the kitchen to join him, he turned to her with a smile, and she was relieved to see that he didn’t seem awkward after the provocative comment he’d made in Varric’s presence.

“So here we are, with the full day ahead of us,” he said cheerfully. “What should we do with it?”

Once again, the memory of his blazing violet eyes and his suggestively curled lips rose to her mind. _Fuck off,_ she told herself, and she shrugged as casually as she could. “I was going to start tagging the shit in this house that I want to sell or get rid of. If we’re going to be living here for a while, we should redecorate. Make it more homey.”

“‘We’?” he said with interest. “Does that mean I get a say in the decor?”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re living here too.”

“How perfectly egalitarian of you,” he said, and he bowed his head again. “You have my thanks.”

He was smiling that gorgeous smile, and his polite tone was laced with a hint of laughter. Tamaris grunted and left the kitchen and his stupid tempting smile behind, then made her way upstairs.

She stepped into her bedroom and wandered over to the window, then opened it and gulped in a breath of fresh air — or as fresh as the air in a city could ever get. 

_It held the sweetness of your lips. That’s more than enough for me._ Felassan’s smooth and lilting voice rose unwittingly in her mind, and she scraped her metal fingers through her hair as though to push away the memory of his words. 

She was being stupid. Felassan was only hitting on her because he was getting over his Tranquility, and she was only responding to his flirts because she was… well, she had no excuse. She was just horny for no good reason in particular. 

She scoffed quietly at herself and took another calming breath of city air. Regardless of the reasons for their shared sexual frustration, what she’d said to Varric was true: neither she nor Felassan were in any position to get involved any more intimately than they already were. Felassan couldn’t control his flirtatious impulses, though, and that wasn’t his fault, so Tamaris would just have to be especially careful to rebuff him.

 _It’ll be fine,_ she thought. _I was the fucking Inquisitor. If I can foil a qunari invasion and trick the Orlesian court into thinking I have any kind of couth, then I can say no to sex with a handsome man._ With that bolstering thought, she pushed away from the window and turned her mind to the fascinating task of redecorating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sing-song voice] Somebody’s in denial…
> 
> Somebody’s also getting an awful lot of nice food. I didn’t really plan to have so much food being mentioned in this fic. Should I add ‘cooking’ as a tag? 😂
> 
> Also, yes, in this timeline (AND IN ALMOST ALL OF MY TIMELINES) Fenris comes to Skyhold with my Hawke and then they go off doing his Blue Wraith shit together. Fen being all alone and bitter in Blue Wraith is the one situation where I heartily reject canon. FENRIS AND HAWKE ARE INSEPARABLE, SORRYNOTSORRY.
> 
> Finally, a note on lore: as I mentioned, it's not my strong suit by any means, so when I mention anything lore-y, I'll try to remember to mention whether it's fanon, esoteric canon, a rare theory (with sources), or my own imagination. If you guys ever have any questions about this, feel free to comment or [ask me on Tumblr.](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/)


	7. Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] You readers are the best. I love you guys. 😂❤️ As always, I will reply as soon as I get a chance!

Felassan joined Tamaris upstairs within the hour, and they spent the rest of the day wandering between his bedroom and hers and discussing how they would redecorate the house. Or at least, that was ostensibly what they were doing. 

In truth, they spent half the time discussing the house and half the time picking on each other and talking about _This Shit Is Weird._ Felassan had brought the book upstairs with him and was continuing to read it in fits and starts while Tamaris prowled around the upper level sneering at the gilded wallpaper and the gilded wall sconces. He stretched out on the beds while he read — both his own and Tamaris’s, without asking her permission first — and she couldn’t be bothered to tell him to get the fuck off of her bed. 

She also couldn’t prevent herself from imagining crawling onto the bed and straddling him, but that was an entirely different matter and not at all something Felassan needed to know. 

The next few days passed in a similar vein, and it wasn’t long before Tamaris and Felassan had fallen into something of a routine. She woke up a few hours later than he and ate the delicious breakfasts that he made, then cleaned up the dishes while he nattered at her about _This Shit Is Weird_. They wandered around the house making fun of the decor and dismantling the parts of the house that they could and discussing how they’d fix it up instead. They’d go up to the roof to smoke and enjoy some fresh air, and when they got hungry, Felassan would fix their meals, which they would enjoy on the roof as long as it wasn’t raining. 

On several occasions, Felassan became emotional about his uncontrolled magic or the five years he’d lost as a Tranquil, but Tamaris was growing accustomed to his unnerving bursts of laughter and magic and tears. She spoke softly to him to keep him grounded and she held his hands despite the magic that flickered across his skin, and each time when he returned to his usual self, the smiles he gave her were undeniably beautiful – enough to make her heart do a funny twist in her chest. 

Felassan wasn’t the only one needing help, however. As the days went on, Tamaris started having more trouble with her decision to quit drinking. Her morning nausea and headaches grew worse, and she became more irritable in turn. She started taking elfroot potion as soon as she woke up, and although it helped with the nausea and the tremors, it somehow failed to fully take the edge off of her aching head. Her fingers and her face felt like they were itching at night when she went to bed without her bottle of rum, which made it hard to sleep, and the lack of sleep only added to her headache and her irritation.

On their sixth day in the house together, Felassan was unusually quiet during breakfast. Tamaris took a gulp of lukewarm coffee and shot him a sideways look. “What’s with you?”

“You aren’t eating,” he said.

She grunted. “It’s nothing to do with your cooking. I just feel like shit.”

“I’m well aware,” he said.

His tone was not at all accusing, but Tamaris glared at him anyway. “Look, I don’t mean to be a bear, all right? I’m just—”

He interrupted her. “Easy, _avise_. I am not picking on you,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“No wonder your face is all twisted up like that,” she said grumpily.

He grinned, and Tamaris groaned and rubbed her face. “Felassan, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m such a bitch. I just… _ugh._ ” 

He laughed. “Please, by all means, go on. I should like to hear what other unprompted insults you can throw at me.”

She shot him a baleful look. “You don’t really want me to tear you a new one for no good reason.”

“I don’t want your vitriol per se,” he said. “But you’ve been… subdued.” He shrugged and smirked. “It’s a pleasure to hear your vicious tongue, even if the viciousness was sub-par and unoriginal.”

She groaned again and rested her forehead on her folded arms. She couldn't cope with banter right now. She didn’t have the strength. “Felassan…”

He let out another soft rolling laugh. “All right, I’ll take pity on you. Let me try something. May I touch you?”

Her belly jolted — in a pleasant way, despite her nausea. She tried hard to ignore it and shrugged. “I guess so.”

He stood up and stepped behind her chair. “Sit up straight.”

She sighed and lifted her head from her folded arms. “I hate this already,” she complained.

“That’s the spirit,” he said drolly. “Close your eyes.”

She sighed bad-temperedly and did as he’d asked. A moment later, his fingertips slid up the back of her neck.

Goosebumps instantly spilled down her spine. His fingers slid up along the base of her skull, and then his other hand joined the first, pressing smoothly into the nape of her neck and up through her hair until his fingertips were splayed on her scalp. 

He pressed gently on her scalp, then slowly dragged the tips of his fingers down toward her neck, and a shiver of heat and undeniable pleasure trickled down her throat and into her chest. She dragged in a slow breath, then released it shakily when Felassan started gently massaging her neck with one hand. 

The fingers of his other hand settled on the crown of her head, and his fingers burrowed delicately through her hair to press on her scalp in a gentle circular motion. “If I had my magic, I would use it ease your pain,” he said quietly. “This is a rudimentary fix, but it’ll have to do.”

Magic? He didn’t need magic for this. His hands alone felt incredible. The pressure of his fingers on her scalp was perfect, leaving trails of pleasure on her skin as his fingertips moved from the crown of her head down toward her nape, and it was enough to make her want to purr. 

She mustered the wits to reply. “You still have your magic. You just… need to… work on it or whatever.”

He chuckled softly. “A kind sentiment, but this isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“Very generous of you,” she mumbled.

“I’m generous when I want to be,” he replied.

“Hmm,” she murmured vaguely. When he began to massage her temples, she leaned her head back in bliss. 

Felassan continued to massage her head and neck, and Tamaris slid into a sort of blissful torpor. He claimed this to be a rudimentary solution, but her headache really was easing off and her nausea was swiftly becoming ignorable, replaced by a sensation that was far more pleasurable. 

His fingers combing slowly through her hair, the tips of his elegant fingers kneading her neck: this felt so good. No, it felt better than good. It felt… intimate.

Her belly swooped, and she drew a deep breath. It had been years since she’d been touched this intimately. She was casually involved Bull for about a year before the dissolution of the Inquisition and for a couple of months after, but their affair had never been more than just that — a release of tension, just like how he’d described sex with the tamassrans back in Par Vollen. They fucked each other and went back to their missions without batting an eye, and for Tamaris, that had been enough. In the wake of Solas’s rejection and then his departure, she’d been too raw and scalded to even consider anything more than the kind of pleasurable but perfunctory sex that she and Bull had shared. 

But _this_ — this massage that was intended to ease her pain: it wasn’t sexual, but it was intensely _sensual_ , and it was far more intimate than anything she’d felt in years. Felassan’s fingers were slow and careful and firm, and his touch was so incredibly deliberate. As Tamaris sat there at the table with her eyes closed, it felt like Felassan’s fingers were reaching something far deeper than her skin, plucking at something knotted inside of her that she’d been working hard to wish away. 

Her heart was beating in her throat and behind her eyes, but it wasn’t a headache. Her chest and belly were jangling, but not with nausea. The more his limber hands moved across her scalp and neck, the warmer and fuller she felt, and the more she also felt like she might burst into tears. 

He gently tilted her head to the side and smoothed his knuckles down along the tendon in her neck, and she gasped with pleasure. “Stop,” she blurted. 

His hands instantly left her. “Did I injure you? I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

Fuck, _fuck,_ his voice was slightly breathless. Was he turned on too? This was bad. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected or intended when she’d woken up this morning.

But Creators, his hands… they felt so fucking good that she wanted to cry.

She swallowed hard and tried to control her voice. “No,” she said. “It was…” She faltered. She _couldn’t_ tell him anything like the truth — that his fingers on her neck felt better than any of the empty orgasms she’d given herself over the past year. 

“It was fine,” she said lamely. 

“Just fine?” he said archly. “I should practice my technique, then.”

More practice? It was the last thing he needed. It was the last thing _she_ needed if she was trying to stay out of his bed. She laughed despite herself, then regretted letting the laughter out; it sounded giddy even to her own ears. 

Felassan sat in the chair beside her, and Tamaris took two calming breaths before even trying to meet his eye.

Her heart thudded with excitement. He was wearing that infuriating shit-eating grin, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears were tellingly flushed.

She stared stupidly at him, and his smile curved even more mischievously at the corners. “Is your headache gone?” he murmured.

 _Smug handsome bastard,_ she thought. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of falling into his stupid charming trap, and not just because he looked so smug. 

She couldn’t fall into this — whatever _this_ was. It was a terrible idea. His emotions and his sex drive were out of control, and she was a jaded mess, and he was making her feel things that she thought she’d lost for good with the mere press of his fingers on her scalp, and… gods, it was just a terrible fucking idea.

She turned away from him and took a bite of maple-flavoured oatmeal. “Yeah. Headache’s gone for now. Though I’m sure you’ll give me another before the end of the day,” she said snarkily.

He laughed, and the lilting sound prompted another unwelcome ripple of heat deep in her core. “There’s that whiplike tongue. You must be feeling better.”

She _harrumph_ ed and ate another big bite of oatmeal. Felassan propped his legs up on the table and picked up his mug of tea. “In all seriousness, if that was helpful to you, I can do it every morning if you wish. There were nobles in Arlathan who couldn’t even claim such an indulgent start to the day.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her as he sipped his tea. 

“Great,” she deadpanned. “Then I’ll definitely be saying no.”

His smile widened, then grew soft as he studied her. “The offer is genuine, Tamaris. Consider it.”

She swallowed her food, then shrugged. She couldn’t say yes, specifically because her traitorous body wanted nothing more than to say yes. “I’ll think about it,” she hedged.

“Good,” he said pleasantly, and he clapped his hands together in a businesslike manner. “Now what part of this mansion should we start systematically breaking down today?”

To her great relief, the rest of the day passed as normally as the past few. But that night when Tamaris went to bed, it was the first night all week that her mind wasn’t occupied by a longing for the sugary burn of rum coursing down her throat. 

Instead, the tempting thoughts that spanned her jittery mind were thoughts of the handsome, smiling, amethyst-eyed elf in the bedroom next door.

************************

On their seventh day in the house together, Varric came by in the late afternoon with the items from their supply list. Tamaris invited him to stay for dinner, which he agreed to, and when the meal was done, he asked if they wanted to play a few hands of diamondback. 

Tamaris groaned. “You know I’m shit at diamondback. Do you want to see me suffer?”

“Come on, Cuddles, practice makes perfect,” Varric wheedled. 

“Tell that to the three years I spent losing constantly to you and Josephine,” she retorted.

He chuckled, and Felassan laughed as well. “You paint a colourful picture, Tamaris. Perhaps we should play a strip version of this game.”

His smile was a suggestive curl. Tamaris ignored it and shot him a chiding look. “Not a fucking chance, brat.”

His grin widened, and Varric cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll pass on that too. We can make it a drinking game, though. For me and Felassan,” he added hastily.

She shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Getting rid of the booze in this house is probably for the best, anyway.”

They stayed up late into the night first playing diamondback, then playing a game that Felassan taught them called ‘the dragon’s deal’ in the common tongue, which Varric and Tamaris repeatedly lost at. When Felassan won the sixth round in a row, he chuckled.

“You’re truly fortunate that this is not the strip version that we are playing,” he said. “You would both be naked by now if we were, and wouldn’t that be a shame?”

Varric snorted. “I’m not convinced that you aren’t cheating, Jester. Come on, let’s go again.”

Felassan collected the cards with a smile. “Would you care for some friendly advice?”

“No thanks,” Varric said dryly. “I’ll figure it out sooner than later.”

“ _I_ want the advice,” Tamaris complained. “I need all the fucking help I can get.”

“You’re both looking to figure out my tells,” Felassan said as he shuffled the cards. “A sound strategy, or it would be if that’s what this game was about.”

“What is it about?” Tamaris groused.

“It is not about the individual rounds. It’s about the long game and seeing patterns.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You make playing cards sound like you’re planning for a war.”

“Insofar as any game of chance can be a war,” he replied.

His smile was mischievous and his violet eyes were sly. Tamaris eyed him shrewdly, but Varric was nodding. “Okay. I think I get you. Let’s go again.”

Felassan nodded approvingly. “I admire a man who faces fate with a smile,” he said, and he deftly dealt out another hand.

They played a few more rounds, and eventually Varric won three hands in a row. Felassan chuckled as he tossed his cards onto the table. “Well played, my friend. I see now why you are one of the coordinators of the efforts against Fen’Harel.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, even if I don’t exactly agree that I’m a coordinator,” Varric said. He drained the last of his beer, then placed the empty stein on the table and stood up. “I should be going – early meetings tomorrow that I actually need to show up to.”

“Really?” Tamaris said. “I thought you were all ‘don’t show up so they think you’re fancy and important’.”

“Sure, most of the time,” Varric said. “But not when the meeting is with Aveline. She sees right through that.” 

Tamaris snorted, and Varric smiled at them both. “Well, thanks for this. It was a nice change from the usual routine.” 

“Anytime,” Tamaris said honestly. “And thanks again for bringing all the supplies for us.”

“Yes, you have our thanks,” Felassan said with a gracious nod.

Varric nodded and tossed her and Felassan a casual salute, then meandered toward the door. Once he was gone, Felassan looked at her with a smile. 

She tilted her head. His posture was even more relaxed than usual, and his smile was soft. “You’re not drunk, are you?” she asked. He’d won every round except the final few for the past hour or more, so it would surprise her if he was more than tipsy.

He shook his head. “Not drunk, no. Just content.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak; his expression was thoughtful now, and she had the sense that he had something more to say. 

A few peaceful moments later, he spoke again. “I have been thinking, and I’ve decided that contentment is a vastly underrated emotion. And I don’t mean happiness or joy; I mean plain, pure contentment. People scoff at the idea of being content because they think it is a state of neutrality. It’s a state of being _not_ unhappy; of being perfectly fine. They think this is inadequate somehow because it is not an extreme of emotion.” He met her eye, and his expression was serious. “But contentment is nothing like neutrality. It is an incredibly strong, incredibly powerful feeling.”

“And one you haven’t had in five years?” she said softly. 

“Oh, longer than that,” he said. “Far longer. I believe the last time I was this content was… oh, some three thousand years ago?”

Her eyes widened, and Felassan laughed. “I’m joking, of course. I’ve had moments of contentment since then. But not quite like this.” 

“Not like this in what way?” Tamaris asked. 

He sighed, and the sound was supremely relaxed. “Without the yoke of ulterior motives or subterfuge. I have nothing to do because there is nothing I _can_ do. It’s... almost freeing in a way.” 

Gazed at him with a pinch of sympathy and guilt: sympathy because she knew he still felt inadequate without the proper control of his magic, and guilt since the events of the world didn’t stop marching forth with their terrible madness just because Tamaris had decided to check out for a time. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment. “What do you think you’ll do when your magic is controlled again?” she said quietly.

He looked at her but didn’t reply. His expression slowly shifted from content to serious as he gazed at her, and she couldn’t decide if the jittery feeling in her belly was guilt at having broken his lazy pleasant mood, or nerves from the steadiness of his stare.

“It depends,” he finally said.

“On what?” she asked.

“On a great many things, all of them unknown,” he said. “Especially while I’m still catching up on everything I’ve missed while I was being hosted by the lovely Carta.”

She nodded slowly. That was fair. Then she shot him a hard look. “You’re not going to rejoin Solas, are you?”

“No,” he said immediately, to her great relief. “That is the only certainty. From Varric’s novel and the things you have told me, Fen’Harel has changed, and that alone is…” He let out a soft laugh. “It’s more than I can credit. But it is not enough.”

“I agree,” she said.

“I know you do,” he said softly. Then he shot her a playful smile. “Why do you ask? Would you miss me if I left your side?”

She scoffed. “That’s not why I’m asking.”

“And that’s not a denial,” he teased.

She _tsk_ ed and stood up. “Let’s go to the roof. I need some fresh air.”

He chuckled and lazily rose from his chair. “All right. I’ll join you in a minute.” 

Tamaris made her way up to the roof and lay down with a sigh. She was staring vacantly up at the inky sky when Felassan silently vaulted up to the roof to join her.

He padded over and crouched beside her, then held out his hand. “Here. A gift for you.”

She sat up curiously and peered at the contents of his hand, then smirked. “A joint? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

He huffed in amusement and sat beside her. “It is a special joint, Tamaris. Rolled by my own two nimble hands.”

Her mind conjured a memory of his nimble hands on her scalp, and her heart did a little flip, which she valiantly ignored. She delicately took the joint from him, then suddenly realized what it must be. 

“Is there deep mushroom in this?” she asked. 

“There is,” he said cheerfully. “Just a tiny sprinkle so you don’t throw yourself off the roof.”

She gave him a chiding look, and he chuckled. “It’s safe, Tamaris. I swear it. The most high you will get is high on the beauty of life.”

She huffed. “So not very high at all, then.”

He tutted. “So much pessimism for such a beautiful woman.”

“So much bullshit for such a handsome man,” she retorted without thinking. Then she wanted to slap herself.

He grinned. “I’ll remember you said that. Here, allow me.” He took the joint back from her and snapped his fingers, and a tiny flame appeared at the tips of his fingers. 

They both jumped in surprise, and the flame went out. “ _Fenedhis_ ,” Felassan blurted. “That was – I– _f-fenedhis._ ”

“You made a flame!” she exclaimed. “That was – that wasn’t on purpose?”

“It was, but I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking about it,” he said blankly. 

“That’s good, right?” she said. “That’s what magic is supposed to feel like to you, right?”

“What do you mean?” he said tensely. 

“Solas said that magic to the ancient elves felt as easy as breathing,” she said. “Like it took no effort. That’s how you made that flame, right?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Yes, but… that was true before. It has never been so easy in this time.”

“Well, maybe you need to start thinking about your magic as though it _is_ that easy,” she suggested. 

“Should I _think_ about my magic, then, or just let it come to me in a flash of inspiration?” he demanded.

Her gut twisted at his sudden snappishness, but she kept her apprehension to herself. “Both,” she said calmly. “Actually, I might have an idea. Solas taught me how to increase my mana to some degree. Not a lot, since there was only so much I could do, but enough that I can do small healing spells and very short-term barriers. Maybe his exercises could help you, too.”

Felassan laughed, but his laugh was all wrong – a rough, ugly sound. “This is your solution? I’m going to practice Fen’Harel’s ways of manipulating the Fade as taught by his former lover?”

His eyes and fingers were flickering like embers now. Tamaris forced her face to remain neutral, though her own pulse and temper were starting to rise. _This isn’t him,_ she reminded herself. _It’s the Tranquility cure._

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” she said levelly. “Or you can keep on snapping your fingers and doing random spells when you don’t mean to. It’s up to you.”

“And if I chose to keep doing random spells?” he bit off. “You would continue to mind me like an unruly child?”

“Yes, Felassan, I would,” she said firmly. “I mean, I hope you don’t decide to just keep doing random spells because that’s fucking stupid, but if you do, I’m not going anywhere.” She quirked one eyebrow. “Besides, I have nothing better to do, remember? You keep me entertained if nothing else. And you cook really well.”

He stared at her for a moment longer with his lambent eyes, then burst out a laugh that was a little too loud for the fact that they were on the roof.

She gently squeezed his knee. “Hey. Keep your voice down.”

“Of course, of course,” he chortled. He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. “We can’t upset the precious genteel shems with our roof-climbing antics.”

He sounded a little more like himself now, and his hands weren’t glowing anymore. Tamaris relaxed somewhat as he chuckled to himself, and once he’d calmed down, they simply sat on the roof in silence. 

Felassan was still holding her hand. Tamaris knew she should pull her hand away, but it remained on his knee nonetheless.

He eventually sighed. “I apologize, Tamaris. I would be honoured by your help.”

He sounded tired. She squeezed his knee, then pulled her hand away and leaned back on her palms as she stretched out her legs. “All right then. We can start tomorrow morning.”

“You have my thanks,” he said quietly.

She huffed. “You shouldn’t thank me. I… honestly, I feel bad now. I should have thought of this earlier. I should’ve…” She sighed and ran her metal fingers through her hair. “Fuck. I’ve been wasting your time here, haven’t I?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “What gives you that notion?”

“You could have been at Cassandra's sanctuary relearning your magic from Rhys,” she said. “But Cassandra sent you here so I could pump you for information, and I haven’t even been doing that. We’ve just been bumming around and eating and taking the house apart.”

He laughed. “And here I thought you were enjoying my company.”

His laughter was warm and lilting once more, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile faintly at the sound. “Sharing company wasn’t the point. Cassandra didn’t send you here to be my playmate.”

He lifted a suggestive eyebrow, and Tamaris felt her ears warming. “I'm just surprised you’re not mad that I’ve been wasting your time,” she said quickly. “You could be relearning your magic, but instead you’re sitting on a roof smoking with a bitchy alcoholic.”

“Well, we aren’t smoking yet,” he said. “We should rectify that.”

She huffed in amusement. “True.” She pulled out a match and lit the joint, then cautiously took a pull from it.

The smoke was still flavoured with the familiar bittersweet of elfroot and embrium, but there was a touch of something more earthy – something distinctly dirt-like. It wasn’t unpleasant, however, and Tamaris held the smoke in her mouth for a moment before slowly blowing it out. 

She offered him the joint, and he shook his head slightly. “Please, it’s for you. Go ahead.”

She took another drag, then offered it to him more insistently, and he smiled. “Another friendly gesture?”

“Take it while you can,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “All right. I accept.” He took the joint from her fingers and lifted it to his lips, and Tamaris surreptitiously eyed the plumpness of his lips as he shaped the smoke into rings while it left his mouth. 

“To answer your question, I am not angry that I’m here,” he said. “Honestly, I’m pleased. I would certainly have been more miserable if I had stayed at the sanctuary.”

“Why?” she said in surprise. “What’s wrong with the sanctuary?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s perfectly pleasant at the sanctuary. But being here is better. It feels more…” He paused and took another drag from the joint, then held it out to her. “I feel like less of an invalid with you.”

She scoffed and lifted the joint to her lips. “Not sure how that makes sense given my situation, but okay.”

He gave her a small smile. “I am surprised, though. That you haven’t been more enquiring about… everything. Or I _was_ surprised, at least.”

She grunted. “You aren’t surprised anymore by the non-inquisitive ex-Inquisitor?”

He smiled at her sarcastic tone but shook his head. “You know more than you bargained for. You are still grappling with it.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s like an overly filling meal. You need time to digest what you’ve taken in before gorging yourself a second time.”

She nodded, grateful for his lightheartedness as well as his understanding. “I do want to know things. Honestly, I do. But at the same time, I… don’t?” She grimaced and ran her fingers through her hair. “The answers I got from Solas were not what I imagined, and anything you tell me can only be more of the same.”

“That is true,” he said.

She took another pull from the joint and released it in a sigh. “In one of the earliest fights I had with Solas, he said something about it not being helpful for modern elves to know that their ancestors walked this world like gods. I was mad at him at the time because it felt like he was being petulant. Just keeping information from people who really wanted it.” She paused and gazed pensively at the sky for a moment before speaking. “People have a right to answers if they’re asking for them, even if it’s not what they wanted to hear.” She gave Felassan a wan smile. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t asked you more. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m not ready yet.”

He nodded. “You may not have the leisure of ignorance for much longer, from what I heard of current affairs while at the sanctuary.”

“I know, I know,” she said, but without any heat. She took another drag from the joint and admired the wispy smoke as it left her lips to blend into the nighttime air. 

Then she realized that she was feeling more relaxed with this joint than she ever did while smoking her regular elfroot-and-embrium combination.

She quirked an eyebrow at Felassan. “Are you sure this won’t make me high? I feel really good considering what we’re talking about.”

“You aren’t high, I assure you,” he said. “Simply relaxed. Maybe a touch disinhibited.”

“Disinhibited?” she said archly. “That sounds like being high.”

He smirked. “We have different definitions, then. But we can use this as a learning experience. Only a quarter of a joint for you from now on.” He plucked the joint from her fingers, and she watched with a lazy sort of enjoyment as he brought it to his lips once more.

He pulled from the joint, and the smoke that left his lips accompanied a question. “Did you ever think about joining Fen’Harel?”

She sighed. “At the time that he told me who he was, I was too pissed at him. It never even crossed my mind.”

“And now?” Felassan asked.

She drew her fingers slowly through her hair. “You’d think I would want to join him. He’s trying to restore everything the Dalish always wanted. But…” She _tsk_ ed. “I hate to say it, but he was right in some ways. We didn’t really know what we were asking for. But that was partly his fault,” she added in annoyance. “He didn’t try hard enough to talk to us or get to know us. And he doesn’t really care about restoring anything for _us_ , anyway. He’s trying to restore everything for _you_. For _your_ people.”

Felassan released another mouthful of smoke. “That certainly is what his goal has always been.”

Tamaris nodded. “But the more I think about it…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He handed her the joint. “Tell me.”

She took a slow pull of smoke and released it before speaking. “I don’t think _he_ even really wants to restore your time,” she said. “The way he talked about it… It’s like he’s going through the motions because he has no choice. Or he thinks he has no choice. He thinks there’s no alternative, even though there obviously is. He can just _not_ tear down the fucking Veil. It’s not that hard to just leave it alone.”

“Betraying your sworn purpose is harder than you can imagine,” Felassan said quietly. 

Tamaris looked at him. His eyes were on the sky and he was smiling, but despite his ever-present smile, he looked pensive and a little bit sad.

“You did,” she pointed out.

He laughed softly. “I did indeed,” he said. “And in a grand and sudden fashion, to boot. Very exhilarating stuff.” 

His tone was jocular, but he still wasn’t looking at her. On impulse, she nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re braver than he is,” she said.

He finally met her eye. His smile was layered with so many things, contentment and sadness and mischief and fatigue, and the expression was so complex that it hurt her heart.

She offered him the joint, and he took it gently from her fingers. He lifted it to his mouth, and Tamaris shamelessly watched his lips as he smoked.

“Tell me something, Felassan,” she said. 

He raised his eyebrows. “What sort of something?”

“Anything,” she said. “Something about the olden days.”

He snorted with amusement. “You’re requesting a story?”

“Yes, if you’re in a sharing mood,” she said. 

He hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I believe I am in the mood to share. The question is only what I should share first. There are so many possibilities.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “How about… tell me something you haven’t told anyone else.”

His eyebrows rose, and he smiled slowly at her. “Anyone else, ever? Or anyone else recently?”

“Whatever you want,” she said.

He smiled at her for a moment longer, then shook head in amusement. “All right, I will tell you a secret. But you owe me a secret in return after this.”

“Sure, why not,” she said easily. Felassan had already heard her most closely guarded stories about Marin and her own feeble magic. It wasn’t like she had any other big secrets to tell. 

He chuckled. “You really are relaxed.” He shifted slightly beside her, and she realized with a little thrill that their shoulders were still touching. 

He leaned a little closer to her and lowered his voice, even though they were alone. “The times that Fen’Harel remembers. The true and genuine glory of an empire at its heights of sophistication?”

His voice was a lovely low purr of laughter in her ear. “Mhmm?” she murmured vaguely. 

“This is not something that I ever knew.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

He shrugged, shifting his shoulder gently against hers as he did. “By the time I was born, our world was already in decay. Andruil was mad for the hunt, and Elgar’nan was in a perpetual feud with Falon’Din with their people being used as pawns. After Fen’Harel set me free, I saw pieces of Elvhenan’s beauty in sections of the world. I saw it in its full vivid glory in the memories of the Vir Dirthara – memories that I devoured once I was permitted to go there with the impunity of Fen’Harel’s secret favour and Mythal’s mark on my face. But I never knew Elvhenan the way Fen’Harel did.”

“So… so the elvhen empire was already declining by the time you were born?” she said blankly. 

He nodded and took a drag from the joint, and she gazed at him with wide eyes. “Fuck. That’s… so you were fighting for something you never really knew?”

He shrugged again and blew a perfect set of smoke rings. “So were you and your Dalish clans.”

“And yet you sneer at us,” she said sharply.

His smile slipped a bit, and he sighed and handed her the joint. “It’s difficult to see the signs of corruption and ignorance in so many disparate clans, but the signs are still there.”

“Not all of the Dalish are like that,” she retorted. “Just like not all humans are closed-minded racist idiots, and not all dwarves are underground hermits who only care about lyrium. It’s like you said.” She leaned into his shoulder and poked his thigh. “Like _you_ said, Felassan. There’s value everywhere if you look hard enough.”

His smile returned, and the quality of it made her belly tingle. “So you are an optimist at heart,” he murmured.

She scoffed quietly, but she couldn’t look away from his eyes – his strange, clear, beautiful purple eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she muttered.

“How far would you go?” he asked.

His question was soft and curious and inherently innocent, but her breath stalled in her chest all the same. Only now was she realizing how close he was – how close _she_ was to him. Her shoulder was snugly pressed into the crook of his arm and his chest, almost as though she was angling for him to put his arm around her, and their faces were so close that she could smell the perfumed smoke on his breath. He was so close that she could see the faint hints of crow’s feet at the corners of his catlike eyes.

He was so fucking close — just a mere hairsbreadth away. And Tamaris wasn’t sure that they were talking about ancient Elvhenan anymore. 

“How far would you go, Tamaris?” he said.

His voice was exquisitely soft, barely more than a coaxing murmur of sound, and its effect was instantaneous: a breathtaking bloom of desire opened deep in her belly and burned its way up to her cheeks, and before she could even think a single thought or say a single word, she was kissing him.

Felassan’s lips parted easily beneath hers, and a sound left his throat: an uninhibited little sound of pleasure somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and the sound of it made her lightheaded. She brushed her fingers over his jaw and licked his tongue, savouring the herbal taste of the joint he’d made for her, and when he made that gorgeous sound a second time, she drew away from his lips to gasp in a breath.

Or she tried to, at least, but Felassan didn’t let her pull away. The moment she started to lessen the kiss, he clasped her neck in his palm and slanted his mouth firmly over hers.

She was breathless, stunned by the intensity of his kiss. It was deep and slow and devastatingly thorough, his lips shifting slowly and firmly over hers before coaxing her mouth open to slide his tongue languidly along the slick length of her own, and Tamaris shamelessly melted into him, completely drawn in by how carefully he was kissing her. The way he was nipping her lips, the way he was twining his tongue with hers, even the slow and thorough tracing of his fingers on her neck: all of it was so fucking careful – careful in the most literal sense of the word, like he was taking an infinite amount of care to taste every dip and curve of her lips and every sleek edge of her tongue. It was like he was trying to draw every singular scrap of pleasure that he could from this meeting of their lips, as though he was tasting something delicious in the depths of her mouth that he’d never tasted before… 

And that was when she realized why he was kissing her like this — in this thorough, careful, exquisitely attentive way that was making her feel like she might melt. It was the combination of his dozen years of celibacy crowned by the five years he’d spent as an unfeeling Tranquil. Felassan was a blazing tempest of emotion and lust, and he was steadily consuming her with every second that she spent giving herself to his kiss.

She made a muffled sound of protest and pushed gently at his shoulder, and he instantly broke away from her. “ _Lanastem,_ ” he gasped, and he stroked her neck. “ _Ir isalis ma_...”

She stared at him with a pounding heart. His pupils were huge and dark, and the amethyst rings of his irises… 

They were glowing. His eyes were quite literally glowing with magic and lust and emotion — more emotion than he had any right to feel for her after a mere seven days.

But of course the emotion wasn’t for _her_. It just _was_. 

Her heart twisted painfully. Then Felassan brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “Tamaris,” he rasped. 

His voice was strained with lust, and the sound was far too appealing for her liking. Felassan gently stroked her chin with his thumb. “Can I invite you—”

“We can’t do this,” she blurted.

His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned away from her slightly. “Why not?”

She swallowed hard. Why was there a fucking lump in her throat? “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she said weakly.

He smiled, and some of the heat returned to his expression. “Is that what you think will happen?”

“It _is_ what would happen,” she said. “You’re… you’re recovering. It’s not really me that you want. You’re just horny.”

He let out a soft and wicked little laugh. “‘Horny’. Another colourful word. Does it stem from the qunari and their interesting ways of dealing with sex?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said dumbly, thrown off by the shift in topic. Then she frowned. “Wait, how do you know about qunari sex?”

“You can learn many interesting things in dreams,” he replied slyly.

She scoffed despite the ache in her chest. “You sound like Solas,” she said.

His face suddenly became utterly serious. “Is he what is stopping you?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Wha— no,” she said. And to her mild surprise, she meant it. From the second Felassan had leaned toward her with his heated eyes and his smirking mouth, Solas hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Are you certain of that?” Felassan said. “It would be a shame to compare me to the Dread Wolf. I can only imagine that I’d be found lacking.”

His tone was jocular, but his face was anything but, and Tamaris frowned at him. “You’re not lacking. I mean – you wouldn’t be, if there… if we were… but we can’t.” She trailed off and looked away from him, and her eyes fell on the mostly-finished joint, which was lying abandoned and extinguished on the roof where she’d dropped it. 

A long and uncomfortable silence ensued, which Felassan eventually broke. “Do you really think my desire is a result of the Tranquility cure?” 

His tone was utterly serious now, and it made it even harder for her to look at him. “It is,” she said. “It must be.”

“Why are you so convinced of that?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m a cranky, bitter bitch, of course. There’s nothing to be attracted to.”

He didn’t reply, and Tamaris continued to stare unseeingly at the unlit joint. Then she felt Felassan’s fingers on her jaw. 

She swallowed hard. His fingers were a gentle pressure on her jaw, and she allowed him to turn her face to his. When she was finally facing him again, it was to find his eyes no longer lit from within, but dark and serious and meltingly warm.

“You are so incredibly wrong, _avise_ ,” he murmured.

Fuck, _fuck,_ she could feel her eyes burning. Why was she suddenly on the verge of tears?

She abruptly stood up. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “I’ll… we’ll do the mana-exercise thing in the morning.” She turned on her heel and made her way toward the window. 

Before she could swing down to the window, however, Felassan called out to her. “Tamaris, don’t forget.”

She gave him a guarded glance, and her heart twisted again; he was still smiling at her, despite her terrible behaviour. 

“Don’t forget what?” she said.

“You owe me a secret,” he said, and his smile widened. 

She pressed her lips together. If she tried to laugh or make a catty remark, she’d burst out crying instead. 

She shot him a dirty look, then swiftly made her way back into the house. _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought irritably. He was a menace, with his smirking and his stupid jokes and his soft sympathetic eyes that made her feel like he was prying her open and pulling out her most twisted parts with the utmost care. 

He wanted a secret, did he? Well, he wasn’t going to get one. The only secret she was keeping was the only thing standing between her and his bed, and it wasn’t so much a secret as something she didn’t dare to admit: that she wanted Felassan more than she could remember wanting anything in years. 

She stepped into her bedroom and heaved a heavy sigh. _I need a fucking drink,_ she thought, and she slammed the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we’re back to Tamaris going to bed in a fit of pique. At least there’s no booze involved…? 
> 
> The Elvhen phrase Felassan says in this chapter, thanks to FenxShiral:  
>  _Lanastem. Ir isalis ma_ = Forgive me. I want you so badly.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who want to say hello!


	8. Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fjahfljkg GUYS you overwhelmed me with love on that last chapter! 😭😭❤❤❤ I will try not to panic that the fic has peaked at Chapter 7 BAHAHA. To that end, though, just FYI that this chapter is a more talky one.

Tamaris slept poorly that night.

Her head was buzzing with a jumbled mixture of thoughts. Felassan was at the forefront of them, naturally; her unruly mind kept reminding her of his playful tone when he teased her and the spine-tingling sound he made when they kissed, and the darkness behind her eyelids was put to shame by the memory of the lambent magic and lust in his eyes after she’d leaned away from his lips. 

He made her uneasy. 

No, that wasn’t fair; Felassan wasn’t doing anything to make her feel uneasy, and she was undeniably attracted to him. But somehow, _that_ seemed to be the problem. It was the attraction that was making her feel uneasy. Her desire was diluted by some kind of weird trepidation that she was not at all accustomed to. She was drawn to Felassan, with his shit-eating smirk and his casual stories and his warm amethyst eyes. But when she thought too hard about getting more intimate with him, something inside of her quailed. 

It was fucking frustrating. She hadn’t had this same kind of internal push-and-pull before sleeping with Bull, so why was it different with Felassan? 

Furthermore, why was she obsessing about this when nothing should be happening between her and Felassan anyway? No matter what he said, his lust couldn’t genuinely be focused on her. It was the Tranquility cure and nothing more, so the point was moot. 

So why the fuck was she still awake over this? 

Felassan wasn’t the only problem keeping her awake, though. She was also anxious at the thought of the mana-building exercises that she was supposed to help him with in the morning. It had been years since she’d done the exercises that Solas had taught her. Not only was she rusty at them, but she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to teach them to Felassan. 

If Tamaris was totally honest, though, it wasn’t just her long hiatus or the teaching situation that concerned her; it was the thought of doing something that would be such a visceral reminder of Solas. There was a reason she’d stopped doing these exercises, after all. 

As it turned out, that visceral reminder came sooner than Tamaris liked. In her haste to escape from Felassan earlier tonight, she’d forgone their usual nightly ritual of a cup of dream-blocking tea. So of course, as sheer luck and fucking irony would have it, this was the night that she had to dream of _him_ when she finally fell into a fitful sleep. 

She narrowed her eyes at the six-eyed wolf from atop the battlements at Skyhold. No matter how far away he was, whether it was the Frostback Basin or the Hissing Wastes or some strange verdant land she’d never seen before, it never felt quite far enough. 

She glared viciously at him but didn’t say a word; she had never been able to find the right words to say during these rare and fragmented dreams. Instead of trying to speak to him — or more accurately, to yell at him — Tamaris had somehow decided that if she stared at him for long enough, she’d figure it out. If she kept her eyes on him, forcing him to meet her furious gaze, then maybe she’d finally _see_.

When she woke up the next morning, however, her half-awake mind was already losing the fragments of dream that she’d collected, and she could no longer remember what it was that she was trying to see in the first place. All she could remember was the impression of a sad and watchful wolf.

The unwanted dream of Solas, contrasted with the _very_ wanted and oddly intimidating memory of kissing Felassan… it felt like too much to cope with first thing in the morning, especially with her usual awful morning headache. She was of half a mind to avoid Felassan by foregoing breakfast to sit on the roof and smoke instead, but she ultimately decided against it; avoiding him would just make her seem both churlish and childish. 

It was thus a very surly Tamaris who made her way down the stairs for breakfast. 

As usual, Felassan was lounging on his nest of silk cushions in front of the fireplace with _This Shit Is Weird_. Without saying anything to him, Tamaris went to the kitchen to fetch her breakfast. When she came to sit at her usual spot at the dining table, Felassan looked up.

His lips were curled with a knowing smile. Tamaris wilted slightly and dropped her eyes to her plate of fruit-and-creme-filled crȇpes. He was totally within his rights to say something about her abrupt departure from the roof last night — she had acted like a complete ass, after all — but that didn’t mean she was prepared to talk about it.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

She slumped even further and popped a bite of crȇpe in her mouth. “Mm?” she mumbled.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask about last night. Instead, he tapped the book in his hand. “The orb. The one that Fen’Harel gave to Corypheus. He doesn’t have it, does he?”

She relaxed slightly and swallowed her food. “No. It broke when we were defeating Corypheus. It was an accident, but I’m fucking glad now that it broke.”

Felassan nodded. “I suspected as much. I wonder where we would be now if it hadn’t broken?” He rose to his feet and came to sit beside her.

“We’d be dead, obviously,” she drawled. “He’d have ripped down the Veil by now if he had that stupid orb.”

“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully.

She looked up from her delicious crȇpes. “You really think he wouldn’t have done it? Seriously?”

“He hasn’t done it yet,” Felassan replied. He poured a cup of tea from the enchanted teapot on the table.

Tamaris eyed him incredulously. What was he trying to imply? “He probably doesn’t have the power. Which is fucking terrifying, really, considering what he was like when I last saw him.”

Felassan slid the cup of tea over to her, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, no coffee?”

He smiled at her. “We’ve been living together for barely more than a week, and already you’re a pampered princess?”

She blinked at him, then snorted. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. These are amazing, by the way.” She tapped her fork lightly on her plate.

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “Drink that tea. It’s medicinal.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is this the tea for my withdrawal?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Chock full of fresh herbs: your favourite.”

His smile was endearingly mischievous. She huffed and offered him a little smile in return.  
“You really do pamper me, you know.”

“If pampering you brings the rare beauty of a smile to your face, consider yourself perpetually pampered,” he replied smoothly. 

She snorted and rolled her eyes. Despite his flirtation, she was starting to feel as relaxed as she usually did in his presence. There was nothing expectant or heavy behind the usual mischief in his eyes, and they’d been sitting here together for a good few minutes now without him bringing up the kiss. Maybe he was going to let her off the hook about it.

She lifted the cup to her lips and took a little sip, then grimaced. “Is this supposed to taste awful?”

He _tsk_ ed. “Yes, Tamaris. Put some honey in it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “It feels more medicinal without honey to cover the taste.”

He smiled faintly. “Wise of you. The good things in life don’t always come in the sweetest packages.”

She glanced at him. His tone was light and breezy, but his gaze was a bit pensive now as he surveyed her. 

She dropped her eyes to her plate and took too big a sip of the tea, scalding her tongue in the process. Felassan, in the meantime, turned the conversation back to Solas. “So Fen’Harel had acquired additional power in the time between his departure and your meeting again. Power enough to remove the mark from your hand, it seems.”

His words were a statement, but Tamaris could see the question in his face. She sipped the tea again and gave him an arch look. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoil the ending of _This Shit Is Weird_ if I answer your question?”

He grinned. “Terrified. I do love a good surprise ending. But I’ll forgo the surprise in this case.”

She sighed and cut another piece of crȇpe. “Yes. He was way more powerful when I saw him last than when he was with us. Petrifying qunari and setting off huge explosions…” The memory sent a shiver down her spine. “He must have done a lot of fancy fucking Fadewalking during the time he was off plotting our collective murders.”

Felassan nodded slowly and tapped his fingers idly on the table, and Tamaris paused with a bite of crȇpe halfway to her mouth. “You know something about how he got so powerful, don’t you?” she asked.

“I have a theory, but… I honestly cannot say for sure,” he said.

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me the theory?”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoil the ending?” he said teasingly.

She gave him a flat look and wiggled her metal fingers. “This is the fucking ending, Felassan.”

He chuckled. “You make a strong point. I will tell you if you wish, but I would actually recommend that you be patient with me and let me read more of that book first.”

“Why?” she said suspiciously.

“Because at this point, it’s as fantastical a theory as a fire-breathing nug with halla’s feet,” he said. “I might as well read to you from a children’s book.”

Tamaris exhaled in annoyance, and Felassan lifted his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you, if you like. But I might end up being incorrect later.”

She stared hard at him for a moment longer, then relented and picked up her fork and knife. “Fine. Then tell me something you _do_ know for sure.”

“Such as?”

She cut another piece of crȇpe. “Tell me… tell me what it was like for you when you first woke up.”

He chuckled. “Ah, when I first woke up, ever so long ago. All right. I mentioned to you that I was woken about twenty-five years ago. I—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “ _Woken_? You were woken up?”

“Yes,” he said.

“By what?” she asked.

He raised one eyebrow. “You mean by whom.”

His expression was rueful, and Tamaris gaped at him. “Did… wait. Solas woke you? But — how is that possible? He was in _uthenara_ too!”

“Yes,” Felassan said, “but _uthenara_ is…” He paused and let out a soft exhale. “It may be one of the most subtle magics from our time, and the formation of the Veil made it… complicated. But suffice it to say that those in the long sleep of _uthenara_ are able to communicate with others within the Fade.”

She raised her eyebrows. This was very strange to think about, but she supposed it made sense, especially for a somniari like Solas who had more mastery of the Fade than the real world. “Okay. Go on.”

“Fen’Harel came to me in the Fade when it was my turn to walk this world.”

Tamaris interrupted again. “Your _turn?_ ” she said. 

He tilted his head chidingly. “If you allow me to tell the tale, I’m fairly sure I’ll answer any questions you have.”

She made a little face. “Right, right. Sorry.”

He settled back in his chair and folded his hands comfortably over his abdomen. “Fen’Harel roused me from my refreshing nap about twenty-five years ago, when it was my turn to begin gathering information in this world. I’m by no means the only ancient elf to stroll inconspicuously among the shems, you see.” He waved his hand carelessly. “There were hundreds of us, all with a singular goal: to gather information for Fen’Harel here in this world while he gathered what he could from the spirits who observed this world from the other side.”

Tamaris couldn’t help herself; she interrupted him again. “There were _hundreds_ of you?”

He gave her a reproving little smirk. “May I continue the story?”

She _tsk_ ed impatiently. “Yes, yes. Go on.”

“There were hundreds of us,” he said, “spread over several thousand years — so we were more scarce than you are thinking, I’m sure. We were woken in waves to take our turns gathering information for as long as we could before our time came to an end.”

She frowned slightly. “You mean… you mean before you died?”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “I just had the fortune of being woken shortly before things got exciting.”

She huffed quietly. ‘Exciting’ was one way to put the shitshow of the past couple of decades. “Are there other ancient elves running around now?”

“Most certainly,“ he said. “But I can’t say exactly who they are. Only Fen’Harel knew who he was going to rouse and when.”

She frowned more deeply. “So… but… you never tried to find other ancient elves since you woke up?”

“We were instructed to work alone so as not to arouse suspicion,” he explained.

Tamaris snorted. “A strange elf all on his own is pretty fucking suspicious, don’t you think?”

Felassan chuckled. “You are not wrong, _avise_. Nevertheless, those were our orders.”

She shook her head. “That’s… pretty shitty.”

“Is it?” he said mildly. “How so?”

“It must have been lonely,” she said. “Working on your own for all that time.”

A hint of softness entered his expression. “It could be, at times. Hence the hobbies.” He gestured at the pot of tea with a smirk. “But we all wanted what Fen’Harel wanted. We were committed, and we trusted his judgment. And so I did as he asked, right up until I didn’t.”

Tamaris nodded slowly and thought this over while she finished her breakfast. When only her tea was left, she crossed her legs and picked up her cup. “Maybe there was another reason he didn’t want you to meet with the others.”

“What reason is that?” Felassan asked.

“Maybe he didn’t want you to start talking amongst yourselves and change your minds about helping him.”

Felassan’s expression lifted into a broad smile. “You know Fen’Harel better than you think,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do _you_ think that’s really why he kept you apart, then?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I have considered that. I even confronted him about it once, but he seemed… genuinely shocked at the suggestion. If it was his intent, he either hid it very well, or he wasn’t even aware of the intent.”

Tamaris scoffed. “You know what, I fucking believe it.”

“You believe what?” he asked. “That he hid his true motive, or was unaware of it?”

“Both,” she said. “Either. He’s always been convoluted that way.”

Felassan’s beautiful smile grew even wider. Then he let out one of those rolling laughs that made her heart flip. “I like this,” he said warmly. 

“What?” she said faintly. 

“Talking about him with you,” Felassan said.

She huffed in amusement and brought her cup to her lips. “Say what you really mean. You’re enjoying shit-talking him with someone who also knew him well.”

“Don’t act as though you aren’t enjoying it too,” he retorted.

She shrugged and sipped her tea, but she couldn’t help but smile in response to his mirth-filled tone. “All right, yes. I am,” she admitted. “It’s nice to have someone else to be a petty bitch with.”

He chuckled, then gave her a fond look. “You really do think you are a bitch, don’t you?”

“I _am_ a bitch. There’s no ‘thinking’ about it,” she said. She shrugged again and idly swirled her tea. “It’s not always a bad thing. I got a lot done in the Inquisition by being a bitch. And when it backfired, well… that’s what having a spymaster and a pretty human ambassador are for.”

“You must have been something to see,” Felassan said. 

She glanced at him. His smile was soft and his eyes were warm, and she got stuck in them for a moment before a wriggle of anxiety in her belly made her look away.

She swallowed hard. “Look, I… I didn’t ask you about the waking-up thing because I wanted to talk about him.”

His face slackened with surprise. “Oh. Should I not have brought him up? We’d spoken of him before, so I thought–“

“No no, that’s not what I mean,” she said hastily. “I just meant I… I was wondering what it was like for _you_ to wake up here alone. Solas briefly mentioned what it was like for him. I wanted to know what it was like for _you._ ”

“You wanted to know how I felt waking up here alone?” he asked. 

His eyes were wide with surprise now, and Tamaris didn’t really understand why. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I mean, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

He raised his eyebrows further, and Tamaris put down her cup, bemused by his reaction. “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all. I… you surprise me, that’s all.” His eyes moved carefully over her face as though he was studying her. “You are the only person in ages who repeatedly asks how I feel about things.”

Tamaris frowned. “Briala didn’t ask?”

“I discouraged her from asking,” he said. “I had to discourage her from asking a great many things.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “The agents of Fen’Harel are nothing if not practiced dissemblers.” 

“Oh. Right,” Tamaris said blankly. “What about… what about Solas himself, then? Didn’t he… he didn’t ask how you were doing with all that alone-time?” 

“He was preoccupied,” Felassan said wryly. “Several millennia’s worth of self-blame can be rather preoccupying.”

“He was your friend,” Tamaris said in a hard tone. “He should have asked.”

Felassan’s smile grew wider. “Are you saying you and I are friends?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “I’m not in the habit of sharing close quarters with people I hate, so yes, I’d call us friends.”

Felassan smiled at her for a moment longer, then shook his head and chuckled. “You know, the more time we spend together, the more endearing I find your bluntness to be.”

She rolled her eyes and idly flicked the handle of her mug. “Maybe I should start being all sweet and polite instead, then.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “I enjoy you as you are.” 

His tone was friendly and light, but his words lifted a sudden pulse low in her belly. _I enjoy you…_ Obviously he’d meant he enjoyed her company, but her stupid perverse mind was now presenting her with the idea of Felassan enjoying her in other, more carnal ways. 

He was still studying her as though she was something unique. She swallowed hard and abruptly stood up. “Let’s, um… those mana exercises. Let’s — we can practice in the library.” 

He nodded and rose to his feet, and Tamaris turned away and hurried through the study and up the short flight of stairs to the library.

The library featured two plush couches and two matching armchairs, a thick angora rug, and a couple of large silk cushions for lounging on — most of the cushions having been stolen by Felassan and moved to the space in front of the fireplace in the main room. Tamaris sat cross-legged on the angora rug, then looked up as Felassan sauntered into the room. 

He ran his fingers idly over the spines of a few books on one of the heavily-laden shelves. “Did I tell you I started reading _Swords and Shields_?”

She barked out a laugh. “You didn’t really.”

“I did,” he said with a smile. “I had to.”

“You _had_ to?” she said drolly. “Why?”

“I couldn’t imagine my education about the last five years would be complete if I didn’t read it,” he said. “I’m a third of the way through already. Remind me to pass my compliments on to Varric.”

“No fucking way,” she said. “If you compliment him, he’ll write a third one.”

Felassan grinned wickedly. “Then I’ll be extra sure to compliment him.”

“Enabler,” she teased. “You’re a bad influence.”

He placed one hand on his chest and gave her a little half-bow. “Thank you, Tamaris. I try my very best.”

Tamaris scoffed and waved him over. “Come here and sit the fuck down.”

He sat down across from her and crossed his legs. “All right. Teach me the magical ways of Fen’Harel.”

As always, his tone was irreverent, and she shot him a chiding look, but she couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of him. His clothing, as always, was simple and comfortable: breeches and a plain linen shirt rolled casually to the elbows and lazily unlaced to the middle of his sternum, topped with a simple woven vest of light green. But his clothing was still somehow flattering, fitting his body as though it was made for him despite the fact that Tamaris could likely buy the exact same clothes at any clothing stall in Lowtown. He had loosely braided the sides of his long black hair before pulling it all back into a ponytail at his nape, and the effect of it all was a picture of dignified elegance, even though he was sitting humbly on the floor across from her.

“Is this part of the exercise?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

His lips curled suggestively at the corners. “I might go up in flames if you continue to inspect me in such a manner.” 

_Fuck,_ she thought. She hadn’t meant to stare. She scowled at him. “Close your eyes, you brat.”

“Ah, insults,” he said cheerfully as he closed his eyes. “Always an excellent way of teaching.”

This time, she wisely ignored his words. She closed her own eyes as well. “All right. The idea is basically that people spend a lot of our time focused on the world outside of ourselves. But when you channel magic, you’re focusing inwards to draw on your mana and connect with the Fade. So… um, yeah. That’s the idea behind it.”

“Go on,” Felassan said quietly.

“Okay,” she said. “Well… the way Solas taught it to me was to start by just breathing. I mean, slow purposeful breathing. And then to sort of focus my attention on my own head, or in it. I mean, to pick a point on my head and to sink my focus there. And when I could feel the vibration of my own mana, that’s when I could try a spell.”

“Focus on your head?” Felassan asked.

She opened her eyes to find Felassan gazing curiously at her. “Yes,” she said. “He said that some mages focus on other body parts, like their hands or their heart or even their diaphragm, but most commonly the hands. But since I had the mark, he thought it would be less confusing to focus elsewhere than… than my hands...” She trailed off and scowled. Something had just occurred to her.

She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair. “That asshole.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “What’s the matter?”

She glared at him. “He purposely told me focus elsewhere because he knew I was going to lose my hand eventually, didn’t he? That fucking…” She clenched her jaw and looked away.

“Tamaris,” Felassan said.

His voice was soft. She took a deep breath to try and calm her anger before looking up. 

Felassan was gazing seriously at her. “You have two hands,” he said. “And you do not need them for this.”

She took another deep breath and nodded tightly. Felassan nodded as well and rested his hands humbly in his lap. “Will you show me how this process works?”

She inhaled again and nodded. “Sure. I’ll… I haven’t done this in a year or so, so bear with me.” She closed her eyes and breathed, and after a few minutes, when her anger had faded and she was focused on the ebb and flow of her own breath, she drew her attention to the center of her forehead. 

She imagined her mana there, like a faint glow of green: the same shade of green of a simple healing spell or a simple barrier. When she could _feel_ the mana in her forehead, like tendrils reaching toward the Fade, she pressed her will into her right palm.

A small burst of energy lifted the fine hairs on her arms, and she sighed softly in relief. She was still able to make barriers, then. It seemed that the year she’d spent neglecting these exercises hadn’t totally eliminated her weak but hard-won magical abilities. 

She opened her eyes to find Felassan watching her with a distinctly wistful smile. “Nicely done,” he said. “That barrier was very cute.”

She recoiled slightly. “Cute?”

“Very,” he said. “Just like its maker.”

She scoffed. “Fuck you. My barriers are actually useful for being so small.”

“I imagine they’re extremely useful,” he said, and his tone was more serious now. “That barrier would deflect, what, one projectile or weapon strike?”

She eyed him shrewdly; he was exactly right. “Yes, if the strike isn’t too forceful.”

Felassan nodded. “Non-mages would not be able to feel that barrier. Even other mages might not detect it, depending on how strong _they_ are. I imagine you used that often to throw enemies off? Fool them into thinking you’re making a reckless rush attack, and when their first blow glances off, you attack with your daggers?”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed despite herself. “Yes, exactly. How…?” She narrowed her eyes. “You figured all of that out just from seeing me make that one little barrier?”

“It’s a clever trick,” he said. “I am extremely fond of clever tricks. Especially when they involve cute barriers.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My barrier isn’t _cute._ ”

He grinned. “It’s positively adorable. And its adorableness in no way detracts from its utility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck’s sake, fine. My barrier is fucking precious. Now it’s your turn.”

Instead of closing his eyes to practice the exercise, however, he continued to gaze thoughtfully at her. “This process of focusing your mana. Does it not remind you of anything?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It doesn’t remind you of any other gift you exercised in the past?”

“Oh,” she said. “You mean talking to spirits? Well, yeah, but that’s different. That’s — I’ve always been able to do that.” She frowned thoughtfully. “With that though, I find I’m focusing just _past_ this spot on my forehead instead of…” She trailed off and gave him a shrewd look. “Wait a second. Why are you asking?”

He raised his eyebrows, and Tamaris scowled at him. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know this method already, don’t you?”

He hesitated, then pulled a little face. “I do,” he said apologetically. “It’s the method that’s first used to teach young children to do magical feats on purpose instead of by accident.”

She stared at him, then slumped and rubbed her forehead. “Of course it is. I can do baby magic. Great.”

“I didn’t say this to infantilize you,” Felassan said. “Quite the opposite, actually. Fen’Harel must have been proud when you learned to do this. How long did it take you to learn this? Six months?”

“Something like that, yeah,” she muttered. 

“That’s impressive,” he said.

“Shut up,” she said sourly, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eye; her face was hot with humiliation.

He shifted closer and tapped her knee. “I mean it, _avise_. I found it hard to draw from the Fade when I woke, and I have — well, I _had_ considerably more power than you. This is… more than I would have expected.”

Tamaris grunted. “That’s what _he_ said.”

“What did he say?” Felassan asked.

“He said… well, not my magic exactly, but he said I was not what he expected.” She scoffed and idly rubbed at the tiny dent on her metal arm. “I still don’t know what the fuck he did expect.”

“Ridicule,” Felassan said. “Rejection. It sounds like you showed him neither.”

She finally looked up at him with a scowl. “You’re always defending him.”

“Explaining is not the same as defending,” he said calmly. “And I suspect that I’m not saying anything you don’t really know. From everything you’ve said, you did know him better than you believe.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged irritably and looked down at her palms. “Well, I wish you’d told me this was magic for children before I started showing it to you.”

“It is not just for children,” he said forcefully, and the vehemence of his tone made her lift her head. “That is my mistake, Tamaris. I misspoke before. It’s not magic for children. It’s a foundation that needs to be mastered in order to do more subtle and intricate things.” He gestured at her forehead. “Your ability to connect with spirits is the same. You were just lucky to be born with that ability in this time rather than needing to practice rituals to do it.”

She nodded silently and looked down at her hands again, humbled by the kindness in his tone. After a moment of silence, she looked up at him again. “Did you ever talk to spirits in this time after you woke up?”

He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “I was just thinking that maybe you wouldn’t have been so lonely if you had. They kept me company sometimes when I was young. Before I learned that I should avoid talking to them in front of the others in my clan.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yes, I spoke to spirits at times. But they were not as easily accessible for most of the time that I was awake.”

Tamaris understood. “Oh, you mean before the Breach. I get that. But what about while dreaming? Solas took a lot of Fade naps to spend time with spirits.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows, then tutted and shook his head. “So he wakes up in your world, and _that_ is when he learns to relax? He really is an ass.”

Tamaris snorted a laugh. Felassan smiled at her, and the warm complicity in his face made her heart thump unnervingly.

“To answer your question, no,” he said. “I’m not especially partial to ‘Fade naps’, as you charmingly call them. Furthermore, I was tasked to learn about this world, so this is where I spent my time.” He shrugged and stretched his legs out on the carpet. “I did spend some time with spirits when I was asleep, though, and it did take the edge off of the loneliness at times.”

She nodded, and they were both quiet for a moment. Then Felassan tilted his head quizzically. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, really,” she said. “It's just... nice having someone to talk about spirits with.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “He spoke to you at length about spirits, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” she said. “Honestly, it was the main thing that brought us together. And when he was telling stories about the Fade, that’s when he was the most approachable. The most… loveable, really.” She huffed in a self-deprecating way and rolled her eyes. “That asshole seduced me with all his fucking stories about spirits.”

“Hm,” Felassan said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should talk about spirits with you more often, then.”

Her heart flipped at his provocative words. There was no way he could have meant that; it was way too bold a thing to say. 

She shot him a guarded glance. His ears were flushing a dark pink, but his clear violet eyes were steady and intense.

She huffed and dropped his gaze. Her heart was suddenly pounding. With a single focused look from Felassan, her pulse was rising, and she couldn’t decide if it was from excitement or from stupid, inexplicable fear.

“Rein it in, will you?” she said irritably. “It’s your turn to do these exercises now.” She gestured vaguely at him. 

“Tamaris,” he said quietly.

She pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. When Felassan spoke again, his tone was even softer. “Tamaris, look at me. Please.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. His expression was still warm, but it was sympathetic now in a way that put her even more on edge. 

“What?” she said tensely.

He studied her for a moment before speaking. “I am being unconscionably bold, I know. I seem to have lost my ability to seduce you with any kind of charm. But I meant it when I said my interest in you is genuine.”

She _tsk_ ed. “That’s… that makes no sense.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“It’s… I’m…” _I’m a fucked-up mess,_ she thought with a pang. But it was one thing to say this to Varric, and something altogether different to say it to Felassan, especially when he was looking at her this way. 

“Things are… complicated,” she said lamely.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I cannot say I know exactly what trials you’ve been through. But I know what it is to love the Dread Wolf. I know what it is to suffer terrible harm at his hands. Your past with him is complicated, and so was mine.” He gestured between himself and her. “ _This_ does not need to be complicated. I enjoy your company a great deal. This doesn’t need to be more complicated than enjoyable company of a more… physical kind.”

His tone and his smirk were suggestive, and she stared wordlessly at him with her heart in her throat. Uncomplicated, enjoyable company of a sexual nature… it was a tempting offer, and one that Tamaris would have easily agreed to in the past. It was what she’d had with Bull, after all, and it had worked out nicely for both of them without disrupting their working relationship or their friendship in any way. She was clearly capable of having a no-strings arrangement, so it made sense to have that arrangement with Felassan, especially since she was too scarred for anything more. 

So why did the thought of a no-strings liaison with Felassan make her feel like crying?

She looked away from him and didn’t speak. Once again, he was the one to break the awkward silence, and when he did, his tone was jocular once more. “Of course, it’s possible that I’m reading you completely incorrectly, and _you_ are not interested. In which case, _you_ should work on these magic exercises so you can learn to throw ice at me when I repeatedly come on to you.”

“Or when you put your fucking feet on the table while I’m trying to eat,” she muttered.

“An excellent idea,” he said heartily. “That too.”

She shot him a tiny smile, then sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Look, this sounds like a fucking cliché, but it’s not you. It’s…” She sighed again and gave him a frank look. “I’m obviously attracted to you, okay? I admit it.”

“I figured as much,” he said complacently. “That kiss last night was certainly not powered by disgust.”

A sudden memory of his tongue in her mouth flashed across her mind. She ignored the ripple of heat it triggered and tutted at him. “Shut the fuck up. What I’m trying to say is, it’s not — you’re not the problem. I’m… I need to think.”

He bowed his head graciously. “Fair enough. If you decide you want to take this further, then you have only to encourage the terrible lines I’ll continue to use on you.”

She laughed despite herself. “Your lines aren’t that bad. I’ve heard much worse.” In truth, Felassan’s accidentally-flirtatious lines were quite smooth. 

Very smooth, actually. She could only imagine how seductive he could be if he was actually doing it on purpose.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “I genuinely can’t understand how anyone in this time is able to seduce each other in the common tongue.”

Tamaris blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“This language is very literal,” he said. “Everything means exactly what it sounds like. It’s exceedingly boring.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. And flirting in ancient Elvhen is so much better?”

He smiled at her — a slow, knowing, predatory smile. “Yes, _avise_. Bedroom talk in our tongue is _much_ better.” 

She swallowed hard. His voice was low and lilting and smooth, and it triggered a toe-curling bloom of heat between her legs, followed by an immediate panicked feeling of falling off the edge of a cliff.

 _Smug gorgeous brat,_ she thought desperately. She dropped his gaze and shifted away from him on the carpet. “Do your fucking mana-building exercises.”

He chuckled and crossed his legs. “Oh good, cursing. Another time-honoured teaching technique.” He closed his eyes and rested his hands palms-up on his knees, and Tamaris let out a quiet exhale of relief. It was so much easier to think when he wasn’t looking at her. 

This was the problem now, though. She’d told Felassan she would think about having sex with him, which meant she couldn’t keep deflecting him and storming off to her bedroom every time he unbalanced her. 

Which meant Tamaris needed to figure out why exactly he was unbalancing her so much. 

She studied him for a moment. His eyes were closed and his brows were drawn in a faint frown, and an unexpected little pang of fondness plucked at her heart.

She took a deep and slightly shaky breath, then closed her eyes. She’d think about it later. For now, she would focus on helping Felassan with his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About uthenara: it's discussed in more detail in The Masked Empire than in Inquisition or anywhere else that I know, although Felassan is still being a jokey jackass about it a lot of the time. But it feels like reasonably canon info that people in uthenara can, in some way, communicate with others in the Fade. The rest of the stuff I said about Felassan being woken and hundreds of agents etc. is just my imagination.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone feels like stopping by!


	9. Involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick PSA about fic updates: I know some people find out about fic updates from Tumblr, but Tumblr has become EXTREMELY unreliable for this purpose since a recent "update" to Tumblr which adversely affected tags or notifications or possibly both. A much better way of finding out about fic updates is to **subscribe to fics directly on AO3 if you have an AO3 account** , which will send you an email when new chapters are posted. I always cross-post my chapters [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) as well, and I will pin them at the top of my blog, but my advice would be to subscribe directly on AO3 if you want to know when your local fic writers are updating. Just FYI! ❤❤❤

Felassan’s first session of mana-building exercises didn’t go particularly well.

They practiced together for over an hour. In that time, Tamaris was eventually able to make a barrier that lasted for three seconds — almost her limit, since she was able to hold a barrier for four seconds at most. Felassan, on the other hand, managed to make his hands light on fire only one time, though his palms were constantly aglow with ember-like energy by the end of the session.

“An excellent start,” he said to Tamaris. “If ever I’m on the road again and a foe should attack, I can offer to toast guimauves for them.” He laughed, but it came out like a snarl.

“This was the first try,” she reminded him. “You can’t expect to get your control back in a single session.”

“I’m aware of that,” he snapped.

“I know you are,” she said calmly. “I just thought you might want to hear it out loud.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and Tamaris sympathetically studied the sheen of sweet on his forehead and his nose. “You just need practice,” she assured him. “We’ll start doing this every day.”

He opened his eyes. They were still faintly lit from within by his mercurial magic. “You’re going to watch me struggle with this every day? It’s going to be about as interesting as watching grass grow.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And I won’t just be watching you. I’ll be practicing too. It’ll be a good routine for both of us.”

He studied her silently for a moment, and the angry glow gradually left his eyes and palms. “What if this takes months? You’re willing to do this every day for months?”

“I told you, yes,” she said. “You can do this, Felassan. You’re going to get better. You just need time and a safe space, and you have it now.”

He didn’t reply. His expression was turning soft and understanding, and Tamaris frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You see Marin in me, don’t you?” he said.

 _Marin._ The sound of his name stopped her heart for a second. She dragged in a breath and shrugged. “Maybe I do. And he would have gotten better too, if he’d gotten the help he needed. So what if I see a little bit of him in this situation?”

“I am not complaining,” Felassan said quietly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“Good,” she said in a harder tone. “Because I’m not going to watch someone else I care about get dragged away by fucking Templars. So we’re doing this every day until you get better, all right?”

“Of course,” he said. 

He was still studying her in a contemplative way. Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Paint a fucking picture, will you? It’ll last longer.”

He reached out and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “And what a picture it would be.”

A shiver spilled down the back of her neck at the touch of his hand. Then he leaned back and rubbed his hands together playfully. “All right. We’ve earned a break. Shall we continue peeling off the wallpaper in the foyer, or do you want to start packing those wonderful gold-plated dishes for Varric to take to the market?”

She swallowed hard. Her nerves were jangling from his gentle touch. _Calm the fuck down,_ she told herself, and she gave him a half-smile as she stood up. “Let’s peel the wallpaper. It’s way more satisfying. I like when I get full strips off the wall in one pull.” 

He chuckled and stood up. “They say that the simplest pleasures are enjoyed by the simplest minds.” 

“Says the man who takes extra time to arrange fruit plates by both size _and_ colour,” she retorted. 

He pressed one hand to his chest as he followed her through the study. “You wound me, _avise._ ”

She smirked and led him to the foyer, and they spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon peeling the awful gilded wallpaper from the foyer walls and making fun of each other. That evening, Felassan made a delicious meal of roasted chicken basted with butter and herbs accompanied by another amazing salad, and they were both tired enough from the mana-building exercises that morning that they went to bed relatively early — in their own separate beds, of course, though Tamaris had a hard time falling asleep as she mulled over the tantalizing thought of going to Felassan’s bedroom. 

_No,_ she told herself firmly. She couldn’t go crawling into Felassan’s bed until she figured out why exactly she was feeling so weird about the idea of a casual fling with him. He’d been honest with her about his expectations, and the least she could do was try to be honest in return, even if it meant looking inwards in a way that she’d refused to do for… well, for about the same amount of time that she’d spent either sleeping with Bull or drinking herself into a stupor almost every night. 

As she gazed up at the ceiling, she began to wonder if part of the problem — _her_ problem — was, in fact, that Felassan was being so honest and open with her.

And if that was her problem, well… then she was even was more fucked up than she thought.

The rest of the week passed in a similar vein. Their days actually became quite busy, filled as they were with a number of activities. They packed up various items left behind by the previous owners of the mansion and kept slowly peeling the wallpaper from the main rooms of the house, and when Varric brought them a bucket of deep blue paint, they started painting the foyer. They still spent time discussing _This Shit Is Weird_ , though Felassan’s reading slowed down when their mana-building exercises began, and it wasn’t long before the mana-training sessions took up half of Felassan’s days as he started doing them for longer and longer without Tamaris’s supervision.

Felassan was making visible progress every day, though not without his ups and downs. He’d decided to focus on producing ice since it would be less destructive if an accident should happen in the house. By the end of the week, he was able to produce a blast of ice during almost half of his attempts, though the strength of the blast varied. At one point, he flash-froze a plant that was on the other side of the room, which prompted a laughing jag that lasted for so long that Tamaris actually needed to talk him through it for fear that he’d pass out from the hysteria. After that particular incident, they started lining up golden wine glasses filled with water for Felassan to focus on during his sessions, and this mitigated the messes he made – for the most part, at least.

Then came a day when his training session went particularly poorly. They’d already eaten dinner together on the roof and shared a relaxing joint, so the conditions seemed perfect for training. But when they settled in the library to practice their mana-building exercises together, for whatever reason, Felassan struggled to produce any ice at all. 

After the tenth or eleventh unsuccessful attempt, he let out a harsh laugh. “ _Fenedhis lasa._ This is—” He broke off with a snort of mirth before speaking again. “It was going fine yesterday.”

“Maybe we should take a break,” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “I need to do this.” He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. A bead of sweat rolled down his face as he tried to summon ice in his upturned palms, to no avail.

He exhaled heavily. “Fuck,” he muttered.

She raised her eyebrows. “Swearing in common now? You must be pissed.”

“I am just a touch enraged, yes,” he bit off. “And I blame you.”

“Me?” she said in alarm. “For your — for the… for the no ice?”

“No, _avise_. For the common-tongue cursing.” He gave her an awful grimace of a smile. “But in a situation like this, a crude common-tongue curse feels more fitting.”

His hands were starting to spark with lightning. Tamaris shuffled closer to him. “It’s frustrating, I know. But honestly, I think a break–”

“I am not taking a break!” he barked.

Her heart seized, but she kept her expression calm and lowered her voice. “You can’t produce ice right now,” she said. 

He let out an awful sarcastic laugh, and a tear rolled down his face. “Pointing out my inadequacies now? Is that supposed to help me?”

“Look at your hands, Felassan,” she said quietly. “Just look at them.”

He looked down at his lightning-laced palms, then burst out another laugh. “Ah. I suppose frozen water is somewhat incompatible with lightning.”

“Just a little,” she said with a small smile. She squeezed his knee. “Come on, let’s go to the roof.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. 

She waved him off. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Let’s just take a breather and try again.” She stood up, but Felassan stayed seated on the ground.

He looked up at her, and her heart twisted; his face was painted with tears. “Tamaris, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hey,” she said softly. She kneeled in front of him and rested her hands on his knees. “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He shook his head and burst out a laugh before wiping his face. “This is a waste of your time. I’m–”

She cut him off. “Felassan, you know this is normal for training any kind of skill. There are always going to be some better days and some harder days no matter what you’re trying to do.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard!” he yelled. “I know the theory behind this method better than–” He broke off and pressed his lips together, and she gazed sympathetically at him. 

“Better than me?” she finished. 

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he snarled. “I’m – you see? This is making me into a monster!”

“You’re right, though,” she said. “You do know it better than I do. Which is why I know you’re going to master it again, even if it takes months. Even if it takes years.”

He burst out a particularly hysterical-sounding laugh. “Years!” 

“I don’t think it will take that long,” she said more loudly, “because look how much progress you made this week alone.”

“Progress?” he demanded. “You call this progress? Let’s explore the progress I made this week. I made enough chalices of frozen water to fill a bathtub, and I killed an innocent bystanding plant. Striking, stunning progress.”

His furious voice rang through the mansion, and his eyes were sparking with lightning now. Tamaris took a breath to calm her nerves before replying. “This is one day,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “One single day in the course of a week. At the start of the week, you wouldn’t have been able to freeze that plant. You need to look at the overall pattern.”

He clenched his jaw, then let out a laugh that was accompanied by a fresh spill of tears. Tamaris carefully took his sparking hands in hers, and when Felassan squeezed her hands, she ignored the bite of static in her right palm as she squeezed his fingers in return. 

“This is one day,” she said. “Just take a second to catch your breath, and we’ll go up to the roof for a bit, okay?”

He burst out a maniacal-sounding laugh, though his lips were trembling at the corners. “You are the embodiment of patience. It’s breathtaking.”

She smiled faintly and released his hands to pat his knee. “Keep it in your pants, you rogue.”

He laughed again, then sobbed and buried his face in his hands, and Tamaris’s chest ached at how heartbroken he sounded. “Hey,” she said softly, and she squeezed his shoulder. 

He shook his head and let out another terrible laugh-sob. Tamaris shuffled closer and stroked his back. “Hey, come on,” she murmured, and she pulled gently on his wrist. 

He finally lowered his hands from his face, and her heart quailed; his face was a mess of tears and grief twisted with humour. 

“Come here, brat,” she said gently, and she pulled him close for a hug.

Felassan suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his body so she was straddling his folded leg. She was a little startled by his sudden embrace, but she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms just as tightly around his shoulders. 

He buried his face against her shoulder and sobbed. His body was wracked with tremors and she could feel his tears bleeding into the shoulder of her shirt, and she held him close and stroked his back as he wore himself out. 

Some uncounted time later, when his tears had finally dwindled to the odd hiccup, he shifted his face against her shoulder and sighed. “I have to confess something.”

“What’s that?” she murmured.

“This was all a ruse to seduce you,” he said. “And I believe it worked.”

She huffed in amusement. “Uh-huh.”

He lifted his face and smiled half-heartedly at her. “Look at you, sitting on me like this. If you were so… what was that word? Randy? — all you had to do was ask.”

His voice was humorous but still thick with tears, and his eyes were puffy and red. She chuckled and gently flicked his ear. “Shut the fuck up, Felassan.”

He chuckled as well and tucked his face against her shoulder once more. His arms relaxed to rest loosely around her waist, but he didn’t let her go, and Tamaris didn’t let him go either, even though she knew she should. He was calm now, so there was no reason for her to still have her arms around him, or to still be straddling his leg. 

Just like there was no reason for his head to still be nestled against her shoulder so that his slow and easy breaths were ghosting across her neck. 

She nervously nibbled her lip. She’d meant to hug him, yes, but not in such an intimate way. And now that they were entwined like this, she wasn’t sure how to move off of him without making it awkward. 

Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted to move off of him at all. Holding him like this — being held like this, with the warmth of his breath on her skin: it felt… Creators, it felt really good, and Tamaris didn’t want it to end. But as soon as she started thinking about how intimate this contact was, that awful feeling of nervousness started to nibble at the back of her mind. 

She swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to dismount from his leg without making it awkward. Then Felassan sighed again. “Thank you, Tamaris.”

His words were a hot rush against the skin of her throat — hotter than before. With a thrill of excitement and nerves, she realized that his face was closer to her neck than before. 

A ripple of goosebumps traced along her arms, and she instinctively tightened them around his shoulders. “You’re welcome,” she breathed.

He nodded, and his nose brushed lightly against her neck. 

Her breath hitched, and her pulse kicked into a rapid beat. Then Felassan touched his lips to her neck.

She froze. Felassan pressed a tiny kiss to her neck, then brushed his nose up along the tendon in her neck with an exquisitely gentle touch, and Tamaris’s eyes fluttered shut. She was still frozen, still unmoving in her straddled pose on his leg, but on the inside, she was completely flooded with a sudden rush of lust thanks to the butterfly-light touch of his lips.

His nose traced a slow and delicate line from her neck up to the angle of her jaw. He placed another delicate kiss just below her jawline, and Tamaris couldn’t stop herself; a tiny moan burst from her parted lips, and she craned her neck slightly to the side.

He let out a breathy hum of pleasure, then pressed another kiss to the exposed side of her throat, and she gasped; his lips were parted now, and when he lifted his lips from her neck, the tip of his tongue skimmed over her throat in a quick featherlight caress.

She shivered with excitement and tilted her groin down against his thigh, and his fingers clenched against her back. He restlessly shifted his hips and kissed her neck again, and when he grazed her skin very lightly with his teeth, her fingers tensed convulsively against the back of his neck. 

Felassan nipped her neck again, and she gasped. “Fuck,” she moaned.

“Please,” he begged. “Tamaris, please…” Suddenly his fingers were tugging at the collar of her shirt and pulling it away from her shoulder. He licked her collarbone, and Tamaris whimpered and feebly plucked at his shirt. 

“Hang on,” she breathed. “Felassan, wait…” 

He moaned and grazed her collarbone with his teeth, and a tiny sob of pleasure escaped her lips, even as she pushed at his shoulders. “Stop,” she gasped. “Stop, we… we can’t.”

He went completely still. Then his arms loosened, releasing her from his embrace. 

Tamaris carefully shifted off of his leg, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Once they were apart, Felassan rubbed his face with one hand. 

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” he muttered. He wasn’t looking at her, and his chest was still rising and falling with heavy lustful breaths, and Tamaris stared breathlessly at him, wracked by guilt and lust and even more guilt for being so completely bowled over by her own lust. 

“Felassan,” she said weakly. “I’m so… fuck, I’m sor—”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” he interrupted. He lifted his face, and a fresh pang of horrible guilt curdled in her belly; his face still bore the evidence of his tearful outburst, and it only made it more clear that she should never have encouraged his carnal attention.

“I am so sorry,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t have—” 

“No,” she blurted. “No, it’s my — you’re not in control, it’s not your fault—”

“Stop making excuses for me!” he yelled. “I’m not — everything I do is not governed by the Tranquility cure!”

She recoiled slightly at his shout, then squared her shoulders. “In this case, it was,” she said. “You wouldn’t have… kissed my neck like that if you weren’t in the throes of it. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“That is an excuse and you know it,” he said scathingly. “You’re so intent on being alone that you refuse to accept that my interest is real.”

His accusation hit her like a punch to the gut, but he wasn’t finished. “I am not trying to deceive you, Tamaris. I like you, and I find you extremely attractive. The Tranquility cure is not blocking this. _You_ are.”

She stared at him in shock. How dare he… Intent on being _alone_? How could he — she didn’t _want_ to be alone. She didn’t want to be this way. How dare he accuse her of — of pushing him away because of some half-baked notion that she _wanted_ to be this bitter, burnt-out shell?

She swallowed the lump that was swelling in her throat and stood up. “ _You’re_ so intent on trying to fuck me that you can’t see how much the cure is affecting you,” she snapped. “You want to convince me that you actually want me? Then take this seriously. Take a fucking break when I suggest it and stop complaining about how hard the training is. Then maybe I’ll believe that you’re serious.” Without waiting for his response, she stormed out of the library and went straight to her bedroom, then slammed the door behind her. 

She plopped down on the edge of her bed, then slid down to sit on the floor and glared viciously at the wall. _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought angrily. She couldn’t believe he’d accuse her of wanting to be alone, or of using his recent Tranquility as an excuse to keep him an arm’s length away. That wasn’t – it wasn’t at all what she was doing! She was just cautious after what Solas had put her through. She’d thought that Felassan of all people would understand how badly Solas had burned her. Not just by breaking up with her, but with all of his fucking _prevarication._

He’d purposely misled her in a spectacular manner for over a year. He’d given her incomplete answers about everything she’d ever wanted to know. But his prevarication went deeper than that. Solas had always kept her in a perpetual state of uncertainty about where exactly she stood with him. To this day, Tamaris wasn’t able to remember his warmest and most loving moments without also remembering how aloof he was when she did something to upset him, or how angry he would sometimes get without explaining himself in a way that was at all satisfactory. She’d always been in this unnerving position of trying to figure out how he felt. So how could Felassan blame her for needing space to lick her wounds?

 _You didn’t need time to lick your wounds before fucking Bull, though,_ she reminded herself. And once again, she was back to circling the same problem she’d been trying half-heartedly to untangle since the day she’d kissed Felassan on the roof: why the fuck _was_ he different from Bull? Both of them were offering her the same thing: uncomplicated, no-strings-attached sex. So why was Tamaris feeling so much more uncertain about accepting the same offer from Felassan?

She sat on the floor in the dark for a long time trying to parse her own twisted thoughts. When she finally circled around to the likely answer, it wasn’t at all pleasant. 

Maybe it wasn’t the issue of Bull versus Felassan that was the problem. Maybe Felassan had been right; maybe the problem was _her_. She was treating Felassan differently than Bull because she _felt_ differently about Felassan than she had about Bull. Bull was just a friend that she’d been fucking for a year. Felassan, on the other hand, was… he was…

He was someone she’d only known for a couple of weeks, for fuck’s sake. She shouldn’t be feeling any special fondness for him, because she barely knew him. 

But that wasn’t true, either. In the course of these past two weeks, he’d been forthcoming enough about himself that Tamaris _did_ feel like she knew him. She’d also talked to him more about her family and herself and Solas in the past two weeks than she had to some of her friends that she’d known for years, and for Tamaris, that was… unprecedented. 

_I am not trying to deceive you,_ he’d said. _My interest in you is genuine._ He’d been honest with her — surprisingly so, considering that he was accustomed to being a spy — and she had no reason not to trust him. 

No reason except for the scorched, wounded feeling deep in her chest that Solas’s repeated betrayals had left behind. 

She closed her eyes against a sudden burn of tears and leaned her head back against the bed. “Fuck,” she groaned. She really, _really_ wished she could have a drink. She really ought to go to the kitchen to get some of Felassan’s withdrawal tea, but she still felt too raw to risk running into him. 

The thought of the withdrawal tea made her gut curdle with guilt. Felassan was so thoughtful, always coming up with remedies to help her and making meals for her, even if he was the one who insisted on cooking. He made her laugh when she honestly wasn’t sure she’d be able to laugh at anything anymore, and he always forgave her for snapping at him or for hermiting herself in her bedroom without explaining why.

Or at least, he _had_ forgiven her until now. After what she’d said to him downstairs, she wasn’t sure she deserved his forgiveness. 

She sighed heavily, then stood up and lit the alchemical lamp on her bedside table. She trudged into the en-suite bathroom to tidy up for bed, then shuffled despondently back to her bed and removed her leggings and her mechanical arm before crawling under the sheets to stare up at the flickering shadows as they danced across the ceiling.

She shouldn’t have yelled at him. It was unfair to accuse him of not taking his mana retraining seriously, because he clearly was. He’d spent the whole week working so hard, and the only reason he’d had a fit today was because of the Tranquility cure making his emotions hard to control. And this wasn’t Tamaris making excuses for him; he was emotionally volatile, and she… fuck, she’d basically crawled into his lap, even knowing what he wanted from her and how vulnerable he was in that moment. 

She needed to apologize to him. As awkward as it was, she was in the wrong here, and he shouldn’t have to spend the entire night feeling shitty because of the unfair things she’d said to him. 

She closed her eyes for a second to gather her courage. Then she dragged herself out of bed. With some difficulty, she pulled her leggings on with her right hand, then padded over to the bedroom door and opened it. 

She jumped back in surprise. Felassan was standing at the door, and he looked just as shocked as she felt. 

She clutched her chest. “Fuck,” she gasped. “What are you — why are you standing there?”

“I was just about to knock,” he said. “Contrary to the evidence from earlier, I am not a lecherous creep. I haven’t been standing here for long, I promise you.”

She exhaled heavily. “That’s not what I… ugh, fuck.” She gestured hopelessly at him. “I was just about to come and talk to you. I don’t think you’re a lecherous creep at all. I shouldn’t have—” 

“Please,” he interrupted. “Let me speak first.”

She eyed him in surprise. “Okay,” she said slowly.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I thought about what you said, and you are right. I’m… unreliable. I am volatile, and I can’t… I cannot apologize enough for that. But…” He tugged his ear. “You said you would think about my offer, but we haven’t spoken of it for a week.” 

She wilted. “I know. I’m—”

“Tamaris, please,” he said quietly.

She winced. “Okay, sorry, sorry.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, and she was struck by the contrast of his casual posture and his serious expression. “I think it would be best if you tell me now if you want me to… to keep pursuing you, or to leave you be. Don’t get me wrong: it is not my intention to push you. But it has been a week, and…” He broke off and tugged his ear, and Tamaris felt a gut-punch of guilt.

She suddenly understood what he must be feeling: the same way she felt with Solas’s constant hot-and-cold. 

Felassan gazed steadily at her. “I would like to know if you are interested in being involved with me or not. I will respect whatever you choose. I just…” 

“You don’t want to be jerked around anymore,” she said sheepishly. 

He gave her a faint smile that tugged at her heart. “You are eloquent as always, _avise._ ”

She tried to smile in return, but she couldn’t quite wrestle her face into the right expression. She didn’t want to lose the chance to have something more with him, but now she was horrified at the thought of hurting him the way Solas had hurt her. 

Unfortunately, her expression seemed to be far from reassuring; Felassan bowed his head and he took a step back. “I understand. I’ll—” 

“No,” she blurted. “No, don’t — I’m just…” She dragged her hand through her unruly hair, then gave him a frank look. “Felassan, you don’t — I’m a fucking mess, okay? You don’t know what you’re asking for with me.”

“I do know what I am asking,” he said calmly. “And I won’t ask for more than you can give.”

She gazed skeptically at him. “I’m still going to be a bitch sometimes.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “It’s an integral part of your charm. Besides, you always apologize in the sweetest ways.”

She scoffed. “No I don’t! My apologies are shit.”

He gestured elegantly at her. “See? This is a fine example.”

She gave him a sardonic look, but his expression was so open and warm that she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked away and awkwardly scratched her ear. 

Then Felassan spoke in a gentle tone. “I know you feel that things are complicated. But I meant what I said before: this does not need to be complicated. It can continue to be what it has been all along: two people enjoying each other’s company.” He smirked. “We would simply be adding another enjoyable component to the routine.”

She huffed. “It’s that easy, huh?” 

“Life is rarely easy,” he said more seriously. “It is hard and often bitter. But I have always enjoyed the sweetness of stolen moments of pleasure whenever they can be found.” He gave her a slow and heated smile. “And I suspect that _you_ would be a pleasure that’s especially sweet.”

She laughed at his boldness, even as his words triggered a shiver of interest low in her belly. “You are fucking unbelievable.”

His smile widened but he didn’t speak, and Tamaris understood why; he was waiting for her to make a choice. 

Her heart flipped with nerves. Despite his reassurances, Tamaris wasn’t sure she’d be able to push aside her inexplicable qualms in order to fully enjoy what Felassan was offering. But… Creators, she really wanted to try. The memory of his seductively thorough kiss and his lips illicitly tasting her neck: these were signs of what he was capable of if she just gave this a chance – if she gave _him_ a chance. 

And in this moment, with his heated amethyst gaze steady on her face, she really wanted to try. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, but she could feel her face lifting into a smile. Finally she shrugged. “Fine then. Yes, I… I do want to get… involved with you.”

He smiled more widely still. “Well, well. Did I just win you over? It seems that this arrow is not so broken after all.”

She shot him a chiding look. “I told you you weren’t.”

“And it seems that you’re as wise as you are beautiful,” he replied. 

She burst out a little laugh. “Fuck’s sake, Felassan, you can give it a rest. I already said yes.”

He chuckled and pushed himself away from the doorjamb. “All right. Now that this is… settled, I will have mercy on you for tonight and take my leave.”

A pang of disappointment dropped into her belly. He wasn’t going to… try anything? Well, she supposed that was actually considerate of him, since he could clearly see that this was tricky for her, even if he didn’t fully understand why. 

Even if _she_ didn’t fully understand why. 

She nodded. “Okay. Um, goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he said. But he didn’t make a move to leave. His eyes were tracing slowly over her face, and when his eyes landed on her mouth, the tip of his tongue darted out to wet the fullness of his lower lip. 

Her belly lurched with excitement. _Say something_ , she scolded herself. _Don’t just stand here staring at him. Do something._ She couldn’t think of anything clever to say, though, and there was a tingling feeling of heat in her cheeks and her limbs that was somehow stopping her from moving. 

He pushed himself away from the doorjamb and took a small step closer to her, and her heart thudded eagerly. He was nearly looming over her now with his superior height, and when he stepped closer still, her breath stalled in anticipation. 

But he didn’t do anything. He didn’t move and he didn’t try to touch her, just stood there staring at her with that loaded look in his eye, and Tamaris finally snapped. 

She planted her fist on her waist. “Well?” she demanded. 

Felassan smiled – that fucking smug curl of a smile – then he dipped his head low and kissed her. 

Her lips parted instantly on a gasp. Felassan nipped her lower lip before sealing his lips over hers, and then his palm was sliding up her neck and into her hair, and a flood of excitement surged through her blood so quickly that it made her dizzy. 

She moaned and tilted her head so he would deepen the kiss, but he wasn’t giving her any of his tongue; he was kissing her only with his lips and a tiny bit with his teeth, and when Tamaris darted her tongue out to try and find his lower lip, he released her hair and leaned away. 

She gaped at him, stunned by the torturous tease of his kiss and the swiftness with which he’d pulled away. His chest was heaving and his eyes were bright with lust, but when their eyes met, he gave her a cheeky smile. 

He stepped back and bowed his head politely. “Goodnight, Tamaris. May only the finest dreams touch your slumbering mind.”

He was such a smug handsome ass. She let out a breathless little laugh. “Fuck off.”

He laughed – that rolling, gorgeous laugh, Mythal save her – then he sauntered back to his bedroom and closed the door. 

Tamaris blew out a shaky breath before retreating to her room and closing her door as well. She slumped against the door for a moment and tried to collect herself. She closed her eyes and breathed, but all she could focus on was the insistent beat of her pulse between her legs, and all she could see behind her closed eyelids was the bright lustful spark in Felassan’s violet eyes.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and padded down the hall to Felassan’s bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M SORRY THIS IS THE WORST MOMENT TO CUT THE CHAPTER but the length of the chapter dictated a cut!! I'M SORRY FORGIVE ME
> 
> The next one will be out probably tomorrow, Thursday latest!
> 
> Come find me [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	10. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. 🔥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for this chapter being posted today goes to [Elbenherzart,](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) who listened patiently to my dithering and HELPED ME IMMENSELY with [redacted for spoiler reasons], and who is my soulmate in smut and in everything else. Tip your hats to her for this speedy delivery of smut. 😉
> 
> Also, featuring a drop-dead gorgeous sketch of the previous chapter by [Lethendralis,](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/) who honours and spoils me with her talent. I'M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE.

Tamaris knocked on Felassan’s door. 

“Come in,” he called. 

She opened the door and sidled into his room. Like hers, it was lit only by the alchemical lamp on the bedside table, and Felassan was in bed with a book in his hands. The flickering lamp cast half of his lounging body in shadows, but the dim quixotic light was enough for her to see that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

A flush of heat pulsed between her legs. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, and Felassan raised an eyebrow. 

“To what do I owe this interruption?” he said, and he tapped the book. “I was in the middle of some extremely important reading.”

He was reading _Swords and Shields._ Tamaris would have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so nervous. 

She took a deep breath for courage. “I want you to fuck me,” she said.

His eyebrows leapt up, and a smile bloomed across his handsome face. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” she said in the steadiest voice she could manage.

If possible, his grin widened even further. “And I thought _I’d_ lost my ability to seduce you with any charm.”

She _tsk_ ed and tried to ignore her burning cheeks. “Shut up. I mean it. I… look, I want to do this with you, but I’m nervous for some stupid reason so I think if we just do it and get it over with, I won’t be so in my head about it.”

Felassan stared at her incredulously for a second. Then he started laughing. 

She glared at him, even though her lips were twitching to smile in response to his mirth. “You’re seriously laughing at me?” she demanded. “I can always go back to my own room, you know.”

“There’s no need for that,” he chortled. He swung his legs out of the bed and stood up, and Tamaris’s gaze dropped to his bare torso. She shamelessly eyed the lean hardness of his chest and the delicate lines of his abs, and her greedy gaze tracked lower on his body… 

A dizzying surge of excitement filled her chest. His breeches were half-unlaced and he was already hard, and when he started approaching her, she could see glimpses of his shaft as the fabric shifted over his bulging groin.

“Tamaris,” he said drolly.

She dragged her eyes back to his face. “What?” she snapped. 

He laughed – a low, rolling laugh that seemed to fill her blood with fire. “Were you aware that you become especially irritable when you’re aroused?”

She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

He came to a stop right in front of her and rested his palm on the door beside her head. “It’s completely true,” he said. 

She gulped in a breath. He was looming over her again, penning her against the door with nothing more authoritative than one hand beside her head and the wicked look in his eyes, and she felt equally trapped by his imposing bare-chested height and the pulsing strength of her own growing desire.

“It’s not true,” she said distractedly. “You’re wrong.”

He smirked and slowly lowered his face to hers. “Do you wish to argue about this, or do you wish for me to fuck you?” he murmured. “The choice is yours.” 

His blunt words sent a lance of heat straight through her body. She arched her spine and lifted her chin, and Felassan smiled. “A fine choice, _avise_ ,” he murmured, and he kissed her. 

This time, he didn’t hold back or tease. He licked her lips to coax them open, and before Tamaris could do more than whimper and grab his hip with her one hand, his tongue was stroking hers as he crowded her against the door, and his knee was edging her legs apart.

He clasped her neck in his palms and pressed his body to hers, and Tamaris gasped into his mouth and dug her nails into his hip. The hardness of his shaft was pressing into her belly, and his thigh was rubbing against her groin with the exact amount of pressure to rile her up without giving her any relief, and all the while, he was kissing her in that devastatingly careful way – like he was really savouring the taste of her mouth and the feel of her tongue as it twined with his own.

He curled his hips toward her and groaned into her mouth, and Tamaris shivered in anticipation. He already sounded so pleasured even though his cock was just riding against her still-clothed belly. If he already sounded this enraptured from just a little bit of friction, what kinds of beautiful sounds would he make when he was actually inside of her?

He gently tugged her lower lip between his own and slid his palms from her neck down to her breasts, and Tamaris arched into his hands with a gasp. “Fuck,” she whined, and she pulled eagerly on his hip. “Felassan, touch me…”

He released her breasts and hastily gathered the hem of her shirt in his hands, and Tamaris raised her arms so he could pull the shirt off. He tossed it aside and molded his palms over her breasts once more, and she gasped blissfully at the treasured feel of skin-on-skin. 

Felassan kissed her again and rocked his groin against her belly, and she whimpered against his lips; his cock had worked its way free of his unlaced breeches to slide against her bare belly, and the feel of him hot and hard against her skin only made her more desperate. 

She grabbed his shoulder and twisted her hips toward him, and he immediately understood her meaning: he broke their kiss and lifted her up, and a second later he was setting her on the writing desk and peeling her leggings and smallclothes down. 

She panted eagerly and stared at his cock as he stripped her. “You were being serious about that no-underwear crack then, huh?”

He dropped her clothes on the floor and grinned. “I am never more serious than when I’m talking about wearing no underwear.”

She laughed. “You’re so stupid–”

He cut her off with another impassioned kiss, and Tamaris happily ceded to the mastery of his mouth. His kisses shifted in quality from delicate to dirty in an ebb and flow of gorgeous sensation: he would delicately trace her lips with the tip of his tongue, then take her lips in a hard kiss with his tongue filling her mouth, and every varied movement of his lips gave her the impression that he was doing everything he could to taste every variety of kiss that two people could possibly share. 

It was almost unbearably erotic. Even if he wasn’t doing anything else but kiss her, even if his thumb _wasn’t_ teasing her nipple while his other hand skimmed along the inside of her thigh toward the pulse point at the apex of her legs, she would still be just as wet and eager as she was right now. 

She pressed her chest toward him and pleadingly petted his neck. Then Felassan pulled away from her lips and stroked her shortened left arm. “Are you all right without your metal arm?” he asked. 

“Why?” she panted. “Do you want me to put it on?”

“No, of course not. I – unless you want to,” he added cautiously. “I just wondered if you might feel strange getting intimate without your other arm.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m used to sex without my left arm.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You are?”

“Yes,” she said. She gave him a funny look. “I’ve had sex since I lost it, you know.”

“You have?” he said.

She stared at him, then realized why he was so surprised. “Oh,” she said. “Yeah, I was – I had a thing with the Iron Bull for a while after Solas left the Inquisition. It continued on for a month or two after I lost my arm.” She shrugged and dropped her gaze to her stunted left arm. “It was good practice in rebalancing myself before I got the prosthetic.”

Felassan was didn’t reply. When Tamaris looked up at him once more, his face was wreathed in an incredulous smile.

She wrinkled her nose. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I don’t quite know where to start,” he said. “Perhaps with you failing to tell me you had an affair with a qunari warrior. That must have been a good way to get Fen’Harel off your mind.”

She huffed and awkwardly scratched her neck. “Something like that,” she said ruefully. The driving force of Bull’s huge body had been a pretty effective distraction. 

Felassan laughed, and Tamaris glared at him. “Are you seriously laughing at me?”

“Not at all,” he said. “If anything, I am laughing at myself. I thought the standard I’d be held to was the Dread Wolf, and now it turns out that there was a qunari lover I was unaware of. Now I truly feel inadequate.”

He was grinning, and his eyes were dancing with heat and humour. Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not inadequate.”

“You can’t yet determine that,” he said. “I’ll have to reconsider my technique now. Maybe I’ll ask Varric to find some props–”

Tamaris lunged forward and nipped his chest with her teeth, and he yelped. “That hurt!” he exclaimed.

“Good,” she said vindictively. “Then maybe you’ll shut up.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied. He stepped closer to the desk and took her chin in a gentle grip. “My question now is, do you?”

His voice was rough, and the growly sound of it instantly restored the impatient pulse between her legs. “Do I like what?” she said breathlessly. 

“This,” he said. He turned her head to the side and nipped her neck. 

She gasped, and Felassan let out a sly little laugh. “Punishment is hardly effective when you enjoy it, you know.”

She burst out a little laugh. “Fuck’s sake, do you ever stop… talking…” She trailed off with a blissful sigh; he was gently rolling her nipple between his fingers, and his other hand was sliding up her thigh again. When his thumb grazed the slickness between her legs, she dropped her head back against the wall with a moan.

Felassan exhaled hard, then leaned over her and pressed his teeth to her exposed throat, and Tamaris gasped and jerked her hips. Felassan was panting already even though she hadn’t touched him. His breath was a torrid breeze against her skin as he left a trail of kisses from her throat down her sternum, and he moaned greedily when he took her nipple in his mouth. 

Tamaris gripped the desk for support and widened her legs. His thumb was still just teasing her folds, slipping slowly along the slick length of her sex while he suckled her breast, and when he pressed his teeth into her nipple, she arched her back in bliss. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, and she slid her fingers into his still-bound hair. Then he suddenly released her breast.

He sat heavily on the writing desk’s chair and pushed her thighs apart, and she stared stupidly at him. His ears and cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wide as they roamed over the wetness between her legs, and when he lifted his gaze to her face, her belly jolted: his eyes were glowing faintly, and he looked just as stupified as she felt.

“I think I was right,” he said. “You will be the sweetest thing I’ll taste since I was cured.”

His words triggered a rush of anticipated pleasure between her legs, and she huffed. “You’re so full of shit.” 

“I mean it,” he said seriously. “I might come from your taste alone. Look.” He gestured at his groin.

Her breath stalled in her lungs. Felassan’s cock was rising proudly from his breeches, and there was a trickle of moisture trailing from the tip. 

_Fuck fuck fuck,_ she thought in desperation. She dragged her eyes back up to his face. “Try not to come,” she said. “I want you in my mouth so I can taste that.”

The light in his eyes flared. Then he grinned at her and shook his head. “ _Veraisa,_ ” he said accusingly. “One thing at a time.” He lowered his head between her legs, and Tamaris tensed in feverish anticipation.

But he didn’t taste her. He skimmed his nose along the inside of her thigh, then sighed happily. “You smell marvelous,” he said. “Ripe like peaches in the middle of summer, though I suspect even they would be put to shame by the scent of your nectar.” 

She whined and wiggled her hips. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to stop talking and touch her, or to keep saying provocative things that raised the pulse of longing between her legs. “Felassan,” she mewled. 

He darted her a quick smile, then finally lowered his mouth between her legs, and she exhaled in relief. He licked her slowly and thoroughly, laying open-mouthed kisses and careful little laps of his tongue from the lower margins of her sex up toward her clit, and the careful movement of his mouth between her legs was just as hypnotically pleasurable as the kisses he endowed upon her lips. 

She stared unseeingly at the ceiling, mindlessly mired in the pleasure of his mouth between her legs. He drew his tongue in a long smooth caress along the length of her sex, then lifted his face and exhaled a breathy groan. “ _Fenedhis,_ ” he cursed, and he reached between his legs to squeeze his shaft. 

Tamaris looked at him. “It’s okay,” she said dreamily. “Come if you have to. I’ll make you come again later.”

He shot her a smile, and she noted vaguely that his eyes were even more lambent than before. “I refuse to finish before you,” he said. “I’m many things, and first and foremost is a chivalrous lover.”

She laughed contentedly. She already felt so good, and she hadn’t even come yet. “Wrong,” she said. “You’re first and foremost a brat.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like a challenge. I promise not to be too smug when I prove you terribly wrong.” He lowered his face between her legs once more, but his mouth was more firm and focused this time, and her sense of languid pleasure was soon replaced by a more urgent building of pressure as Felassan’s tongue moved over her clit in a perfect swirling rhythm.

She gasped and clenched her fingers on the desk. His mouth felt so unbelievably good. It was almost like he was hearing the beat of the pulse in her pussy and matching it with his tongue, and before she even thought it was possible, her climax was collecting and building at the meeting point of her body and his mouth–

He suddenly lifted his face, and her rising climax crumbled apart. Disoriented and frustrated, she wrenched open her eyes and looked at him. “What’s – what’s wrong…?”

She trailed off. His eyes were still feverish and bright, and his fist was tense around the base of his cock, but his lips were curled in a smug little smirk.

“Are you torturing me on purpose?” she demanded. 

He shrugged and grinned. “Call this payback for biting me earlier.”

She gaped at him indignantly. “I’ll – oh, I’ll fucking bite you,” she threatened. She spread her legs wider in the hopes of luring him close, but he only smiled.

“Is that a promise?” he said.

She wilted in exasperation. “Do you want me to bite you or not?” she complained.

He laughed and leaned back in the chair with his hand still wrapped around his cock. “Perhaps I just want to drive you mad.”

“Well, it’s fucking working,” she spat. Fed up and frustrated, she shifted her weight and pressed her fingers between her legs to try and relieve the pressure, but her own fingers didn’t feel nearly as good as his talented mouth.

She whined in frustration as she stroked her own swollen clit. Then Felassan grabbed her wrist. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “This climax is mine.” 

He sounded rough and feral, and her heart seized with another surge of excitement. “Make me come, then,” she panted. “I dare you.”

He grinned at her – a wicked, lust-filled sort of grin – then sucked her juices from her fingers before releasing her hand and lowering his face between her legs, and she cried out and jerked her hips; his tongue and lips were even more focused than before, and in the space of mere seconds, her foiled orgasm was rising to an even greater height than before. 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She was completely fixed on the feeling of his mouth between her legs, the gorgeous buzzing pressure he was fostering with every caress of his lips and every firm stroke of his tongue, the pleasure he was giving her, so much fucking pleasure like she hadn’t felt in far too long–

She suddenly hit her peak. The pulsing pleasure surged viciously from the juncture of her thighs up through her chest and down to her calves, and she arched her spine and cried out in relief. She slid her hand into Felassan’s hair as he continued to lap at her, and when her peak ebbed away, he lifted his head and pulled her fingers from his hair. 

He wiped his mouth roughly on the back of Tamaris’s hand, then stood up. “Get on the bed,” he said, and he pulled her hand.

She slid off of the desk and stumbled slightly; her calves were still trembling from her climax. She grinned at him. “That’s direct of you. What, no crude teasing–?”

He clasped her neck in his hands and interrupted her with a kiss, then started walking her backwards toward the bed, and her belly jolted in surprise; there was something frantic now about the way he was kissing her and the way his hands were moving over her naked body. He was breathing hard between kisses, and his hands were smoothly stroking her back one second then firmly gripping her ass the next. It felt incredible but uncontrolled, and Tamaris tried to gather her wits despite the bliss of his tongue twisting with hers. 

She broke away from his kiss. “Felassan, are you–” 

He moaned and kissed her neck and gently twisted her nipple, and the pleasure abruptly kicked her thoughts aside. He licked her neck and sucked her tender skin until she was gasping, then pushed her back onto the bed, and she stared up at him. 

His eyes were a bright violet glow. His chest was rising and falling erratically, and the head of his cock was still garnished with a glistening drop of moisture. He looked totally dishevelled already, his hair half-free of its tidy ponytail thanks to her eager hand and his breeches half-off of his hips. 

He looked like the embodiment of lust. He looked completely overwhelmed. Tamaris gulped down a breath to try and control her own desire. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Felassan panted. “Give me a minute. I can’t shame myself.” 

“Shame yourself?” she said.

He let out a little laugh and tugged his ear. “I’m fairly certain I’ll come the moment I enter you.”

She _tsk_ ed at him. “Stop worrying about that. Come here.” She shifted onto her knees and gestured for him to approach the bed. 

He padded closer. When he was standing right at the foot of the bed, she bent over and shoved his breeches down with her right hand.

She lowered her weight onto her shortened arm and grabbed his shaft, then greedily licked the moisture from his cock, and Felassan grabbed her shoulder. “Tamaris,” he gasped.

She looked up at him. “Can I suck your cock?”

He burst out a giddy little laugh and slid his hand into the hair at her nape. “In no world or time would I ever say no to that offer from the likes of you.”

She snorted a laugh. “All you had to say was yes,” she said, and she took his cock in her mouth. 

He groaned and tightened his fingers in her hair, and Tamaris closed her eyes as she took his length deep into her throat. He was already pumping his hips in time with the rhythm of her mouth, moaning and panting with every thrust, and Tamaris revelled in how vocal he was. Even beyond how arousing it was to hear the pleasure in his voice, there was something oddly comforting about the sounds he was making. His every moan was an obvious reminder of how much he was enjoying the pull of her lips and heat of her throat, and there was something almost… reassuring about the degree to which he wanted this – the degree to which he wanted _her_. 

His other hand slid down her back toward her bottom, and Tamaris gasped around his cock; his fingers were sliding down over the cleft of her ass to dip into the wetness of her folds. He stroked her pussy gently, and she stifled a moan around his cock and suckled him more firmly, and less than a minute later, the fingers of his other hand suddenly tightened in the hair at her nape.

“Ah – Tamaris–!” He shuddered and gasped, and a second later, the hot rush of his climax surged onto the back of her tongue. 

And gods, the fucking _sound_ he made as he came: it was guttural and uninhibited, and it made her deepest muscles clench with the need to be filled and soothed. 

She swallowed hungrily and continued to suckle him until he released the back of her neck. He trailed his fingers along her jaw, then stepped back slightly and clasped her neck in his palms, and Tamaris rose up on her knees, coaxed by his hands on her neck. Then Felassan was kissing her again: slow languid kisses where he lightly nipped her lower lip and lapped at her tongue. He kissed her with the sort of unapologetic hedonism that she was quickly coming to expect from him, and she sank unerringly into the pleasure of his lips. 

Without breaking their kiss, he stepped closer to the bed and then crawled onto it, wrapping his arm around her waist to support her as he laid her back on the bed. He lifted her arms over her head, smoothing his palms up along the length of her arms and back down before taking her nipple into his mouth. He slowly traced his tongue over the peak of her nipple and nipped it with his lips, and she twisted her spine leisurely and hummed with pleasure. His every kiss and touch, every stroke of his hands, every careful caress that he laid on her skin: it all felt so deliberate, like he was really taking the time to enjoy her naked body, and it no longer mattered whether it was the Tranquility cure driving his focused touch or just the way he was; what mattered was that it was his elegant hands and his gorgeous smirking mouth, and… fuck, he just felt so _good._

He kissed her nipple, then lifted his face and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not finished with me already, are you?” 

She languidly opened her eyes. “Not if you aren’t,” she murmured.

He gave her a sly half-smile. “Good. I was afraid you were falling asleep on me.” 

“Not yet,” she said with a little half-smile of her own. “I asked you to fuck me, and you haven’t done it yet.”

He chuckled and ran his hand from her knee up toward her hip. “If I recall correctly, you didn’t ask. You commanded.” 

“I didn’t command!” she said.

“You commanded,” he said wryly. “It was endearing.” His hand glided slowly over her body from her hip up toward her breast, and she twisted toward the tempting heat of his palm.

“Endearing?” she retorted. “You said I—” She broke off with a gasp as he pinched her nipple. “ _Ah_! ...that I have no charm,” she panted. “It was kind of mean.”

“Ah, so you do remember commanding me to fuck you, then,” he said slyly.

She felt a little head-rush of pleasure. There was something oddly arousing about hearing the word ‘fuck’ in his anachronistic accent, and his hand roaming slowly and teasingly over her breasts only made her more eager still.

“It wasn’t a command,” she panted. “It was a suggestion.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “Luckily for you, it’s a suggestion I’m inclined to fulfill. But not until you’re ready.”

“Not until _you’re_ ready, you mean,” she said. She was already dripping wet for him. All she needed was for him to recover from the blowjob she’d given him.

“I _am_ ready,” he said.

 _Huh?_ she thought. She glanced down, and her eyebrows jumped up in surprise; he was indeed hard again, even though he’d just finished a few minutes ago. 

She stared at the thickness of his cock with rising excitement. “That’s… I’m impressed,” she said vaguely.

He chuckled and stroked the underside of her breast with his thumb. “You flatter me. Now if only you were just as ready.”

She dragged her eyes up to his face. “I _am_ ready,” she said blankly.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Let me find out.” He pulled her legs apart and stroked her sex with two fingers. 

She shuddered and gasped; she was _very_ slick and wet, and his fingers smoothing over her flesh felt so good and so _torturous_ at the same time, like he was giving her a taste of something scrumptious while denying her the entire meal. 

She whimpered and clenched her fingers in the sheets, and Felassan sighed in a mock-sad way. “No, I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

“Yes I – f-fuck…” She gasped again and arched her spine; his fingers were swirling gently over her clit now. He leaned over her body and began teasing her nipple with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the pebbled peak of her nipple and tugging it gently with his lips instead of suckling her deeply like she wanted, and she writhed beneath him with increasing restlessness.

She gritted her teeth, then burst out a needy sob. “Felassan!”

“Yes, Tamaris?” he said. His polite tone was countered by the heat in his faintly glowing eyes, and she twisted her hips in frustration.

“I’m ready,” she whined.

“You aren’t yet,” he said firmly. “I can tell.”

He was petting her clit now, tiny coaxing strokes that sent bolts of pleasure through her body. She shuddered and lifted her hips off the bed. “B-but I–”

Felassan suddenly took her nipple firmly in his mouth while petting the swollen bud of her clit, and she mewled with pleasure and rocked her hips frantically in time with his fingers. Then he released her breast and spoke in a rough voice. “Come one more time, and then you’ll be ready.”

“Yes,” she moaned. She was already almost there thanks to the patient stroke of his fingers. She rolled her hips up to meet his steady hand, and a few seconds later, the rapture burst through her body, forcing her to spine into a pleasured bow. 

Then Felassan slid two fingers inside of her, and a visceral cry escaped her throat. His fingers sliding into her heat and curling against the sensitive spot inside of her – fuck, fuck, _yes_ , this was what she wanted and needed: she needed Felassan to fill her up and soothe the longing ache that both her pleasure and his had fostered deep inside of her. 

“Now!” she wailed. “Felassan, fuck me now!”

“With great pleasure,” he grunted. He pulled his fingers free from her body and shifted between her legs, then looped her knees over his arms. 

He planted his palms on the mattress on either side of her waist and rubbed his cock against her slick-soaked sex. She mewled and wiggled her hips pleadingly, but with her legs hooked over his arms, she had little control over what he did next. 

“Felassan,” she begged, and she gripped his arm with her hand. “Come on, I need you…”

“I need you, too,” he panted. “I… _ah_ , you feel…” He broke off with a moan, and the sound lit a thrill in her nerves. He rocked himself against her slickness, and Tamaris whimpered and twisted her hips as much as she could to try and coax him inside of her.

She clawed lightly at his arm, and he burst out a breathless laugh. “Easy, _avise_ ,” he crooned. Then he entered her in one long hard stroke.

A feral cry left both of their throats, and Tamaris dug her nails into his arm. He hissed in a breath, then let it out in a groan and thrust into her once more, and she cried out again at how good it felt – how fucking _good_ it was to have Felassan filling her up like this. He moaned rapturously and slammed his hips into hers, and Tamaris stared shamelessly at his face while he fucked her; his eyes were squeezed shut and his face was twisted in a perfect uninhibited expression of rapture, and the flawless driving rhythm of his hips was fostering a fresh quake of pleasure deep within her core. 

She gasped for breath and focused on the roiling rise of her rapture as she studied his face. The play of emotions across his handsome features was exquisite, a melding of ecstasy and longing and determination as he fucked her hard, and as he continued to coax the tremble of pleasure from the depths of her body, she slowly began to realize that he was soothing more than just her raging libido. His playfulness, his easygoing manner, his moments of seriousness and his philosophical talks, his flawless kisses and this perfect, focused, _delicious_ driving rhythm of his cock: he was soothing an ache deep inside of her, an ache that had remained untouchable for years and that went far further than sexual frustration — an ache that she’d tried hard to hide away, and which every day in Felassan’s company was peeling open just a little bit more, whether she was ready or not. 

Her heart was pounding in time with the meeting of their bodies. He suddenly opened his eyes, and Tamaris’s breath stopped; his eyes were bright and lit from within with magic. 

“You are coming with me, aren’t you?” he gasped. “I can feel it.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, I’m close–”

He slammed into her again, and she burst out another pleasured cry. “Yes! Keep going, keep–”

He thrust into her hard, driving his cock at the perfect angle to strike the place deep inside of her that triggered the pleasure of her rising climax, and she clawed mindlessly at his arm. He let out a sharp little cry that only riled her further, and after another breathless minute of Felassan’s perfect driving cock, Tamaris came for the third time that night.

It was a deeper throb of pleasure this time that surged through her limbs and forced a burst of white light behind her closed eyelids. She sobbed and dug her nails into Felassan’s arm, and a moment later, he let out a strained and guttural cry as his climax washed over him as well. 

He pumped into her three more times, then held fast and ground himself hard into her depths, and Tamaris basked ecstatically in the aftershocks of her orgasm as he released himself inside of her. 

“Tamaris,” he moaned. “ _Ar nuvena shathe nuis’in mar isebre’alas…_ ” 

She shivered as the incomprehensible liquid syllables of his native language filled her ears. She could barely decipher what he’d said aside from ‘I want’, but it sounded like praise, and she vaguely wondered if he would start dirty-talking to her in ancient Elvhen now that they were… involved. 

She took a deep breath, then released it in a contented half-sigh, half-moan. “You’ll have to tell me what that means,” she breathed.

He laughed breathlessly and released her legs to the bed. “It means: ‘I would happily burn in your heated depths.’” 

She raised her eyebrows, then barked out a laugh. “I can’t decide if that’s sweet or suicidal.”

He chuckled and rolled onto his back beside her. “Sweet or suicidal: some might call that a tidy summary of romance in general.” He reached over and smoothed his palm along her thigh.

Tamaris didn’t speak; her tongue was suddenly tied by his touch. His hand was moving in a casual stroke from her knee to her inner thigh and back. The caress wasn’t erotic, but familiar and affectionate, and something about it was making her chest ache. 

“Well?” he said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“What?” she said distractedly.

“How was I compared to your other illustrious lovers?” he asked cheekily.

She scoffed and elbowed him. “You were adequate, I guess.”

He laughed. “I suppose that’s what I deserve.”

She smirked, then looked at him more seriously. “You were great. You made me come three times, for fuck’s sake. That’s…” She trailed off as the memory sent a shiver of heat to the apex of her thighs, which was still tingling with residual pleasure. 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It was… really good.”

He smiled and tucked his other arm beneath his head. “I told you we would enjoy each other. And allow me to confirm that you’re the finest thing I have tasted in decades.”

She laughed. “You are so fucking full of shit.”

“I’ll allow your insult since you already complimented me,” he said complacently.

She huffed in amusement, then fell quiet once more. He was still caressing her leg in a fond and familiar way, and as their silence stretched on, she stared vacantly up at the ceiling as she tried to decide between her dual urges to snuggle closer to him, or to leave his room entirely.

As was often the case, Felassan broke the silence. “I apologize for the assumption earlier. That you had been celibate since… since Fen’Harel.”

Her gut jolted. She licked her lips nervously and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. My… thing with Bull wasn’t a secret or anything. I guess I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important to mention.”

Felassan nodded, and they were silent for a moment more before he spoke again. “Was your separation from the Iron Bull amicable?”

“Why?” she said warily. 

“I’m curious if it was your reason for leaving his mercenary company,” Felassan said.

She frowned curiously. Why would he think that? “No, it’s… it had nothing to do with that. We stopped having sex when I started working as one of his mercs. I left the Chargers because…” She sighed and gave him a frank look. “When the Iron Bull starts to get worried about your drinking habits, then you know you have a problem.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah. I see.”

She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling again. “Yeah. At least I’m taking care of that. Thanks to you, actually.”

“I am glad to help,” he said seriously. 

This time, the silence that fell between them felt loaded. His hand was moving more slowly on her leg than before, and Tamaris breathed shallowly as she waited for him to ask another question.

When finally spoke, his words were careful. “I was under the impression that you were reluctant to sleep with someone new after Fen’Harel.”

Her stomach writhed with discomfort. The question was implicit in his words: if her avoidance of Felassan wasn’t a reluctance to sleep with someone new, then what exactly was her reluctance about? Especially if Felassan was offering the same sort of practical, non-emotional sex that she and Bull had enjoyed?

This, of course, was the problem. She and Felassan had only had sex this one time, and already Tamaris felt so differently about this one tryst than she did about any of the dozens of times she and Bull had been together. 

_I would happily burn in your heated depths…_ Felassan had said that to her right after he came, and Tamaris didn’t know if he was being serious or playful, or if he’d simply been swept away by the passion of the moment. But the hard truth was that Tamaris was starting to feel exactly like that. 

She was starting to feel like, if she allowed it, she would sink willingly into the sweet warmth of Felassan’s smile, and she would get burnt.

She sat up. “I’m pretty tired. I’m going to bed,” she said, and she slid off of his bed.

“Oh,” he said blankly. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed.” Without looking at him, she collected her discarded clothes and padded toward the door. 

Before she could leave, he called out to her. “Don’t forget your tea,” he said.

She glanced at him. He looked so relaxed with his arms folded behind his head as he lounged in all his naked glory, and her heart squeezed painfully at how beautiful and peaceful he looked.

 _Why can’t I just be like that?_ she wondered. Felassan had suffered terrible things too, but he was still able to enjoy the good things in life without overthinking them. Why couldn't Tamaris be like him? Why couldn’t she just… enjoy being with him? 

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Which tea?” she asked weakly. “The anti-dream one or the withdrawal one?”

“If you have to ask that, you should probably have both,” he said. 

She huffed. “You know what, that’s fair. Thanks.” She opened the door. 

“Goodnight, _avise,_ ” he called. “Feel free to come back for seconds if you get hungry again.”

She scoffed despite the ache in her chest. “Uh-huh,” she said, and she finally left his room and closed the door. By the time she was in her own bedroom again, her cheeks were wet with tears. 

She dropped her clothes on the floor and wiped her face. She’d thought Felassan was too much of a mess for this, but the shitty truth was this: _she_ was the mess. Felassan had been nothing but perfectly patient and funny and affectionate, and how had Tamaris reacted? By leaving him abruptly after the best sex she’d had in years. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be involved with him like this, not if it meant she’d be running off in a fit of panic every time he said or did something that made her _feel_ something.

She sat heavily on the bed and closed her eyes. _Fuck,_ she thought hopelessly. He _really_ wasn’t going to forgive her for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M A MONSTER, I KNOW. But look, it’s as Dev Patel says in _The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel_ : everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not yet the end. (For this pairing, at least. I see some of you guys giving me the "SURE, JAN" look. 😂❤)
> 
> There might be another chapter this weekend. I'm getting too far ahead and confused again. 😂
> 
> Untranslated Elvhen terms from FenxShiral:  
>  _Veraisa_ : analogous to the term ‘vixen’ in English. One who tempts sexual desire. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to swing on by. xo


	11. Athdhea'lath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreamerlavellan drew some LOVELY fan art for the previous chapter and I JUST ABOUT DIED. 😭❤😭❤ Check it out [on Tumblr](https://dreamerlavellan.tumblr.com/post/624641138296487936/the-love-that-grows-from-violence-drew-this-thing), you guys!!! SO SMUTTY AND TENDER!!!

Early the next morning, hours before Tamaris usually woke up, she was disturbed by a knock at the door. A moment later, Felassan strolled into her bedroom with a mug in his hand.

She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. “You must really hate me.”

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“You’re waking me at an ungodly hour,” she whined.

“On the contrary,” Felassan said brightly. “The sun is bright and the birds are singing. Chantry sisters would call this the exact kind of morning that their omnipotent Maker has a hand in.”

She could hear the cheeky smile in his voice. She cracked open one eye to scowl at him. “Yeah, well, Chantry sisters and their singing birds can kiss my Dalish ass.” 

He laughed and sat on the edge of her bed. “There is nothing quite like the lash of your tongue to make the morning even brighter,” he said, and he held out the mug. 

She pushed herself up on one elbow and eyed the mug mistrustfully. “If that’s not coffee, I don’t want it.” 

“Yes you do,” he said. “It’s not coffee, but it’s lovely and bitter and good for you.”

His voice was low and coaxing, and it was persuasive enough to make her sit up in bed and take the mug from his hand.

And then she remembered that she had to break off her affair with him before it had even had a chance to really start. 

Her stomach sank, and she dropped her gaze to the mug. “Thanks,” she mumbled, and she took a tiny sip of tea. 

A few awkward seconds passed as Tamaris drank her tea. Then Felassan raised an eyebrow. “So? Was it as awful as you imagined?” 

Her heart lodged itself into her throat. “What? What are you talking about?” she said tensely. He wasn’t talking about last night, was he? Fuck, she wasn’t ready to talk about it–

“The tea, _avise_ ,” he said patiently. “Is it as terrible as always?” 

“Oh,” she said blankly. “Uh, yes. I mean, um, no. It’s… why are you here?” 

“Varric is downstairs,” he said. “He wanted to speak with you.”

Tamaris stared at him. “Wha– how long has he been here for?”

Felassan shrugged. “It’s hard to say, really. How long ago did I come in here?”

Tamaris wilted. “For fuck’s sake, Felassan.” She thrust the tea back at him and slid out of bed, then peeled off the shirt she’d slept in and started strapping on her metal arm. “Did he say what he wants to talk to me about?” 

Felassan didn’t answer. When Tamaris looked up at him, it was to find him staring openly at her. 

His eyes were tracing over her bare breasts and torso, and his ears were turning pink. A pulse of heat flared low in her belly, followed by a painful pulse of guilt. _This_ was why she and Felassan couldn’t sleep together: it was the Tranquility cure speaking, not Felassan himself. He was driven by his uncontrollable urges, not by real feelings for her.

And that, really, was the core of the problem: Tamaris had feelings for Felassan. Sneaky, unwelcome, unexpected feelings that she shouldn’t be having after only knowing him for barely more than two fucking weeks – feelings that he couldn’t really return because of the cure. It would hurt her too much in the long run to keep sleeping with him when she felt this way about him.

And Tamaris couldn’t bear any more hurt right now.

She swallowed hard and turned away to face the dresser. “My eyes are up here,” she said roughly.

“Of course they are,” he said. “Believe it or not, however, I’m not thinking about your eyes right now. Do you want to know what I _am_ thinking about?”

His tone was playful and warm, but Tamaris couldn’t think of anything clever to say, not with this lump in her throat. She pulled open one of the dresser drawers and started rifling around haphazardly for a bra. “Go keep Varric company, will you?” she said irritably. “I’ll be down in a second.” 

“All right,” he said easily. A moment later, however, he was standing behind her. 

She froze. He wasn’t touching her, but he was near enough that she could almost feel the heat of his body through his rumpled linen shirt. He was near enough that she could smell him: a faintly sweet scent like sleepy sheets and fresh soap. 

Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. Paralyzed by panic and longing, she waited for him to touch her. 

He reached over her shoulder and placed the mug of tea on top of the dresser. “Come down when you’re ready,” he said. “And bring your appetite.” He stepped away from her and padded silently out of the room, leaving her alone. 

She exhaled shakily and bowed her head. For a long, terrible minute, she just stood there with her hands in the dresser drawer contemplating what a complete and utter asshole she was.

Then she pulled on some clothes, gulped down the anti-withdrawal tea that Felassan had brought her, and made her way downstairs. 

A mixture of sweet and savoury scents reached her nose before she was halfway down the stairs: maple, chocolate, and something salty and mild. She wandered into the kitchen to find Varric leaning against the kitchen counter while Felassan simultaneously supervised the cooking of some Orlesian _pain perdu_ and whisked a pot of sauce over a double boiler. 

Varric nodded a greeting to her while he continued to talk to Felassan. “We never knew exactly how the tattoos worked. Honestly, I don’t think Fenris did either. He used them really well, though. Being able to punch straight through someone’s chest is pretty handy when you’re stuck fighting a bunch of angry qunari. Or a bunch of angry abominations.” He thoughtfully scratched his stubbly chin. “Or a bunch of angry Templars.” 

Felassan huffed in amusement. “Your friend Hawke seems to have a special talent for making people angry.”

“That’s the weird thing,” Varric said. “She doesn’t really. If anything, she’s got a knack for making friends. Just ask Cuddles here.”

“It’s true,” Tamaris confirmed. “She had the whole crew wrapped around her little finger by the time we were heading to Adamant.”

Felassan gave her a sly smile. “All except you, I presume?”

She tutted. “It’s not like that. I liked her fine. She’s all right for a human.”

Varric chuckled, and Felassan laughed. “‘All right for a human’. Best be careful that you don’t drown us in your effusive praise.”

She grunted and shrugged. His voice was warm and teasing, and she wished he would go back to talking to Varric so she could stop feeling so guilty about how nice he was to her, when the last thing she deserved was his kindness.

No such luck, however; Felassan was still speaking to her. “Did you finish your tea?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Felassan, I drank the fucking tea.” She hefted herself up to sit on the kitchen island.

“Good girl,” Felassan said. “Then you can have a reward.” He picked up an ornate porcelain pitcher on the counter and poured some of its contents into a teacup, then brought her the cup.

Tamaris took the cup and gave him a flat-eyed stare. “If you ever call me a ‘good girl’ again, I’ll rip your fucking ears off.”

He grinned. “I look forward to seeing you try.” He nodded politely at the cup. “Enjoy.”

She peered into the cup and raised her eyebrows. “Hot chocolate?”

“It’s special hot chocolate,” he said as he returned to the stove. 

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me there’s deep mushroom in it.”

He laughed and glanced over his shoulder at her. “You know me well. But no, this isn’t medicinal. It’s purely for pleasure.”

His tone was neutral and polite, but his eyes were warm, and an anxious buzz churned in her gut at his heated tone. She dropped her gaze to the cup and took a sip.

The hot chocolate was like velvet on her tongue. It was smooth and sweet and slightly bitter, with a hint of spicy warmth from the cinnamon he’d added to it. No, wait: more than a hint of warmth.

_Much_ more than a hint of warmth. 

She looked up with wide eyes to find Felassan watching her. “This is — fuck, it’s spicy,” she breathed.

“Yep,” Varric said flatly. “It shocked the hell out of me.”

She greedily took another sip and sighed happily. “This is so good.”

Felassan beamed at her. “I hoped you would like it.”

Varric chuckled. “Of course she likes it. Food that tries to eat through her tongue while she’s eating it? Cuddles is all over it.”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t pout because you can’t handle spicy food.”

“There’s a difference between spicy food and food that wants to burn me from the inside out,” Varric said dryly.

“Only if you’re a chump,” she retorted.

Felassan chuckled, then bowed his head to Varric. “If I had known you were coming, I would have made some without the chili for you. I’ll know for next time. But for now, relax; this will only be a few more minutes.” He turned back to the stove and placed a pot of water on the back burner, then flipped the _pain perdu_ to cook the undersides, and Tamaris wistfully studied the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips while she sipped her hot chocolate.

He removed the double-boiler from the heat. “So Fenris’s lyrium tattoos allowed him to move instantly from place to place, and to phase his hand through people’s bodies with apparently no effort.”

“Not just his hand,” Varric said. “His whole body. I once saw him phase inside of a qunari, then reappear and blow the guy apart.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Wow,” she said, impressed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, it was pretty gross,” Varric said wryly.

Felassan let out a wicked little laugh. “Sounds perfectly delightful. And oddly familiar.”

Tamaris frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

He took a bowl of eggs out of the icebox. “In the days of Arlathan — the olden days, as you say,” he said teasingly to Tamaris, “Mythal had warriors in her service who wielded magic with the facility and grace of any warrior, forming blades made from the Fade with the assistance of spirits of valour and courage. These committed warriors followed the _dirthena enasal’in_ : ‘knowledge that leads to victory’.” He started cracking eggs into the pot of simmering water as he continued to speak. “They freely chose their places of honour at Mythal’s side. But they were compelled to follow the duties they had committed themselves to, and as you can probably imagine, this was a slippery slope.”

Tamaris exchanged a look of surprise with Varric; what Felassan was describing sounded a lot like the Sentinels at the Temple of Mythal.

Felassan was still speaking. “Once the other gods realized what fierce warriors Mythal had in her service, they sought champions of their own with the same commitment.” He shot Tamaris a wry half-smile. “Sadly, the other Evanuris did not spend the same time that Mythal did to foster trust in those who fought for them.”

“They kept slaves,” she said in a hard voice. “Of course they couldn't foster trust in their followers.”

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement and flipped the _pain perdu_ once more. “The Evanuris tried various methods to imbue their warriors with the same power and unshakeable sense of purpose, with varying degrees of success. The most successful, arguably, was June.”

Varric folded his arms thoughtfully. “Who was that again?”

Felassan glanced at Tamaris. “Would you care to do the honours of explaining?”

She recoiled slightly. “Fuck no. I have no idea who he was. All I know is…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Everything I know is wrong, so you go ahead.”

Felassan’s expression softened, and he paused in his cooking. “I am interested to know what you knew. Or thought you knew.”

She pursed her lips. “We thought he was the master of crafting and smithing.”

After a pause, Felassan raised his eyebrows. “That’s all?”

She shrugged again and stared flatly at him. Her clan had always described June as being Sylaise’s partner or husband, but she remembered hearing at an Arlath’vhen one year that some clans believed June to be Sylaise’s brother. Admitting this discrepancy to Felassan would just make him think the Dalish even more ignorant. 

He eyed her for a moment longer, then shrugged as well. “All right. Well, that impression is not surprising. June was once an innovator: a creator of rather spectacular works made from every physical substance under the sun. Stone, earth, metal and wood: June formed them all at his will to make some of the most stunning technological works of our time.” 

Tamaris curled her lip. “You’re praising him? A known slaver?”

“Not praising, no,” Felassan said patiently. “I am stating a fact that I learned from the Vir Dirthara. In truth, the wise and creative innovator was not a figure I ever knew. What I did know about firsthand was one of the few creations he made during my lifetime.” His gaze slid to Varric. “A device that infused lyrium _vallaslin_ into the skin of the chosen in order to make them fearsome warriors with fearsome abilities, able to move faster than the eye could see – with the unappetizing consequence of losing their memories in the process.”

Varric’s jaw dropped. “Shit. Andraste’s ass. You mean… Fenris’s tattoos—”

Tamaris cut in. “They’re _vallaslin_?” she blurted. “Lyrium _vallaslin_?”

Felassan bowed his head in acknowledgement, then started portioning the _pain perdu_ onto three plates. “His plight sounds very similar to the result of June’s process, though I couldn't say with certainty unless I met this Fenris and saw his abilities for myself.”

“You might someday, when he and Hawke eventually come back this way,” Varric said.

Felassan huffed. “If ever I leave this house, more like,” he said drolly.

Tamaris frowned at this. “You will,” she said firmly. “You’re getting better every day.”

He shot her a small smile, and the softness in his eyes made her belly flip. She swallowed hard and hid her face in her cup of chocolate.

Felassan spoke again. “In any case, it seems that June’s process is likely to blame for Fenris’s condition. Though I’m surprised to hear that anyone from this time is graced with that dubious gift.”

“Why?” Varric asked.

“June kept it a very closely guarded secret,” Felassan explained as he plated their breakfasts. “Only he knew the method, and only Andruil and Sylaise benefited from it at first. The other Evanuris had to offer him great boons to have their warriors printed with lyrium _vallaslin_. The fact that the process survived until now is a surprise to me.” 

Tamaris frowned, feeling somewhat troubled by all of this. Varric was quiet too, and when Tamaris met his eye, he looked just as troubled.

Felassan clapped his hands together. “Well!” he said brightly. “Who’s hungry?” He gracefully picked up the three plates and wafted out of the kitchen.

Varric sighed and tugged one of his earrings. “Shit.”

“Are you going to tell Fenris?” Tamaris asked quietly. 

“Not in a letter,” Varric said. “I’ll tell him when I see him next.” He shook his head sadly. “He won’t be happy.”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said ruefully. “Finding out his tattoos are Titan blood slave marks is going to be a pretty shitty revelation.”

“What did you say?” Felassan said. 

Tamaris looked up; Felassan had entered the kitchen once more, and his eyes were wide with surprise.

“I said, Fenris is going to be pissed about knowing his tattoos are slave marks,” she said. “He was—”

Felassan interrupted her. “You know that lyrium is Titan’s blood?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “We actually—” She suddenly stopped and gave him a pointed look. “Oh, but you don’t want spoilers for _This Shit Is Weird,_ do you?”

He stared at her for a second longer, then smiled. “You are a shameless tease. Fine, I will wait until I read about this adventure of yours.”

“Hang on,” Varric said. “You still haven’t finished that book? That’s kind of insulting.”

Tamaris snorted, and Felassan chuckled and patted his shoulder. “You have no reason to be insulted. I’ve been preoccupied reading _Swords and Shields._ ”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Felassan said with relish. “It sucked me right in.”

“Like quicksand,” Tamaris put in.

Varric shot her an affronted look. “Ouch.”

She smirked, and Felassan tutted. “Don’t mind her. I find it very… inspiring.”

Tamaris shot him a forbidding look, which he blithely ignored, and Varric let out a little cough. “Too much information, but thanks.”

Felassan snickered. “You are welcome. Now come and eat before the sauce cools and separates.” He removed a beautifully arranged fruit plate from the icebox and headed back into the dining room, and Tamaris and Varric followed him. 

They took their usual seats at the table — Felassan and Tamaris side-by-side while Varric sat across from them — and Tamaris eyed her plate appreciatively. “What did you do with this _pain perdu_?”

“I elevated it from plain to perfect,” Felassan said.

Tamaris scoffed. “Uh-huh. If you do say so yourself.”

He smirked, then shifted closer to her and pointed to her plate. “The custard wash had maple and cardamom, and I cooked it in a touch of maple syrup. That’s some salted ham there, and a poached egg.” He gave her a winsome little smile. “Your favourite.”

She gazed fixedly at her plate in an attempt to ignore his torturous closeness. “You’re too nice to me,” she mumbled.

“I am as nice as you deserve,” he said. He leaned away slightly. “The sauce is mostly butter and egg yolks, though I infused it with just a pinch of vandal aria.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “Vandal aria? I didn’t know you could use that in cooking.”

“Then I’m glad to have taught you something,” he replied. “Go on, try it.”

She carefully cut a bite of the so-called elevated _pain perdu_ , making sure to include a little of each component of the dish, then popped it in her mouth. 

As always, it was perfectly delicious and everything Felassan had described: sweet and maple-y and savoury, soft and silky from the decadent sauce and the perfectly poached egg, with just a tiny bit of crispness at the edges of the _pain perdu_.

She swallowed and looked at him; he was watching her expectantly. 

“It’s really fucking good, Felassan,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

A slow smile lifted his lips. “You are very welcome, Tamaris.”

His voice was soft, but his smile was heated. Her heart fluttered in her chest, then sank into her stomach when she remembered the truth. His flirting and his warmth: it was just the Tranquility cure talking. 

She dropped her eyes to her plate and focused on eating her breakfast, and Felassan began cutting into his own food. “Eat, Varric. It’s better hot.”

“Right, right,” Varric said. He took a bite as well and raised his eyebrows. “Damn, this _is_ good. You want a job as a chef at the Viscount’s Keep?”

Felassan smiled. “Even if I could leave this mansion, I would have to decline. I have had enough of working in kitchens to last several lifetimes, quite literally. I’ll preserve my talents for the enjoyment of those who appreciate it, including myself.”

“Fair enough,” Varric said affably. 

There was a brief and friendly silence while they all ate for a minute. Then Varric wiped his mouth and looked at Tamaris. “So listen, Cassandra wrote to me.”

“Oh, nice,” Tamaris said. “What did she have to say?”

“Things are good up there,” he said. “One of their first cured Tranquil was accompanied to the Circle at Montsimmard to be reintegrated.”

She straightened with surprise. “Oh. Oh shit! That’s good. I mean, as good as going to a fucking Circle can be. But listen to that, right?” she said to Felassan, and she elbowed him. “A former Tranquil reintegrating into the world. That’s going to be you.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said lightly, and he took a bite of his food.

She frowned slightly at his neutral response, but before she could say anything more to bolster him, Varric spoke to her. “Actually, Cuddles, I came by because the Seeker’s worried about you.” 

She looked at him. “Me? Why?”

“She hasn’t heard from you since Jester got here,” Varric said.

Tamaris winced. “Oh. Fuck.”

Felassan looked up with a smile. “You didn’t write to her?”

“No,” Tamaris said sheepishly. “I forgot.”

Felassan laughed, and Tamaris hunched her shoulders defensively. “It’s not — we were busy!”

“I suppose we were,” he said cheerfully. “What was it you said we were doing? Bumming around and smoking and taking the house apart? Among other things?”

His eyebrows were quirked suggestively, and Tamaris’s gut twisted at the thought of ruining that warm humour in his face when she broke things off. She swallowed hard, then turned back to Varric. “Message received. I’ll write to her.”

“Okay,” Varric said. “That’s great. One less person who’ll be writing to nag me.” Despite his casual tone, his eyes were sharp as they darted from Felassan’s face to hers, and she wilted. 

_Fucking Varric,_ she thought wearily; he’d always been way too perceptive for her liking. Sure enough, when they’d all finished their meals, accompanied by more innocuous chit-chat mostly between Varric and Felassan, Varric rose from the table.

“Jester, thanks as always for the food,” he said. “I probably won’t be thanking you in another month when I can’t fit into my pants, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Felassan smiled and gave him a little half-bow. “It’s my pleasure to fatten you up.”

Varric snorted in amusement, then looked at Tamaris. “Wanna walk me to the door?”

_Not really,_ she thought snidely, but she nodded and followed him. She stepped outside with him, and once they were alone on the front step, she leaned back against the door and folded her arms. 

“What?” she said flatly. 

Varric looked up at her and tilted his head, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Seriously? You don’t have anything to say? You’ve always got something to say, you silver-tongued bastard.”

“Thanks,” Varric said. “I think.”

His expression was expectant and annoyingly non-judgmental. She glared at him, then looked away and chewed the inside of her cheek. But the longer the silence stretched between them, the more the ache in her chest started to swell, and the more she felt the need to fill the silence.

She finally looked at him once more. “Listen, whatever you think you saw, it’s… there’s nothing to see. You can stop taking notes for your next shameless smutty novel,” she added scathingly.

Varric raised his eyebrows slightly. “What did you think I was seeing?”

“Nothing, okay?” she said harshly. “I didn’t think you were seeing anything. There’s nothing to see.”

He said nothing, and Tamaris swallowed hard before speaking in an even harder voice. “Fine. You were right, okay? I fucked him, and it was a mistake. I’m — I shouldn’t have — I fucked up. Add it to the list of dumb shit I’ve done over the past couple years and start writing a book about that.” She pulled a joint out of her breast pocket and lit it, then took a long drag and tried to pretend her fingers weren’t trembling.

Another brief silence fell between them while Tamaris smoked her joint. Finally, at last, Varric spoke. “Can I tell you what I saw?”

She blew out a cloud of smoke. “Knock yourself out. I can’t stop you.”

Varric folded his arms. “Before today, I saw you looking happier than you’ve been in about three years.”

Her heart throbbed painfully. She stared at him, then looked away and pressed her lips together.

“Listen, Cuddles, I…” Varric sighed. “I know I said to be careful. But… you also deserve to be happy.”

“What if I can’t?” she burst out.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She waved her joint vaguely. “I don’t… I don’t know how to just be happy anymore. He ruined so many fucking things for me. Including the ability to just… enjoy myself with someone nice.” She brought the joint to her lips again and sucked on it as though her life depended on it.

Varric’s face softened; he clearly knew which ‘he’ Tamaris was referring to. “I don’t know what to tell you about that,” he said apologetically. “But I… shit, I don’t know. It’s better to let go of the past.”

She glared at him. “I’m trying. You think I’m not trying? I — for fuck’s sake, I don’t even _want_ him anymore. If he came back right now saying he’s dropping all of his shitty apocalyptic plans and wants me back, I wouldn’t take him. That has to count for something, right?”

“I think so,” Varric said softly. “I mean, that’s better than I can say.”

He looked sad, and some of Tamaris’s anger left her; she realized now that he must be thinking of Bianca. His married sometimes-lover Bianca, not the crossbow.

She studied him sympathetically for a second, then offered him the joint. He held up a hand in a polite refusal, and they stood on the step in silence for a moment. 

“It’s not just Solas,” Tamaris said eventually. “It’s…” She glanced at the door, then back at Varric. “He’s a newly cured Tranquil.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

She shrugged and took another pull from the joint. “He’s out of control. It’s not me he wants, it’s a willing body. We don’t have the same… we’re not on the same page.”

To her surprise, Varric suddenly smiled. “You’re kidding, right?”

She scowled at him. “No. Why are you smiling? It’s not fucking funny.”

Varric laughed and shook his head. “Look, elf, I don’t know what to say really except that it was nice to see you looking so happy for a minute there. And…” He gave her a sympathetic look. “Don’t let Chuckles haunt you. Ghosts are good story devices. They’re not so great in real life.”

She scoffed and brought the joint to her lips. “Thanks,” she said sarcastically.

“Anytime,” he said. He patted her elbow. “See you in a few days.”

She watched morosely as Varric walked away. She finished smoking her joint, then rubbed it out on the wall and went back into the house. 

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his cushions in front of the fireplace with _This Shit Is Weird_. He smiled at her when she entered the room. “I’m determined to read a chunk of this before Varric’s next visit,” he said. “Maybe you should give me a hint about when in the book you learn the truth about lyrium, so I know how much I’ll have to read before getting to that fascinating tale.”

His smile was mischievous and handsome and dear — more dear to her than it had any right to be after only knowing him for a couple of weeks. _He_ was more dear to her than he had any right to be, and… and he couldn't possibly feel the same way about her. He was a newly cured Tranquil, and she was a hostile bitch who’d slept with him and was about to push him away just like Solas had done to her… 

Her eyes pricked with tears. _I can’t deal with this right now,_ she thought. She stepped back and started heading for the stairs. “I’m going back to sleep for a couple hours. I’ll—”

“Wait,” Felassan said. 

His tone was firm enough to make her pause. She glanced at him, and her heart sank; his expression was serious, without a hint of mischief or laughter. 

“What?” she said tensely. 

“You have feelings for me,” he said. 

For a split second, she froze completely. It felt like he’d punched the breath from her lungs. She stared dumbly at him for a second, then stalked toward the stairs. 

“Tamaris,” he called. 

His tone was sharper than before, and she suddenly snapped. She spun toward him. “Leave me alone!” she shouted. 

“No,” he said calmly.

She recoiled, genuinely shocked by his response. “Excuse me?” she snarled.

He rose to his feet. “I said no. I won’t leave you alone.”

“Why not?” she snapped. “It’s what I want, isn’t it? To be alone forever. That’s what you said last night.”

His calm expression twisted slightly. “If there is anything I regret, it was saying that to you. It is untrue, and it was an ugly thing to say.” He padded closer to her. “To that end, I won’t be leaving you alone, because I know better now.”

She took a step back from him and folded her arms. “You know better now?” she said sarcastically. “What special knowledge do you think you know now?” 

He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I know that if I allow you to walk away, you’ll chew on this on your own until you’ve calmed down, and then you will pretend that nothing is bothering you until it becomes a hardened ball in your gut.”

She stared at him, breathless and shocked by his words as much as his casual delivery. His words reminded her suddenly of something Cole had once said about the way his gift worked: that people tended to worry away at their trauma until it became a hard little pearl of pain that Cole was able to find and shake loose.

In this moment, staring into Felassan’s old and knowing eyes, Tamaris wished that Cole was here to make her forget so that Felassan had no reason to be looking at her this way.

To her vast horror, a tear rolled down her face. She hastily wiped it away and glared at the ceiling as she willed her unruly tears to keep to themselves. 

Felassan gently squeezed her arm. “Come sit with me.” 

She gulped down a breath, then reluctantly followed him to his nest of cushions and sat bad-temperedly on one of them. He sat beside her with considerably more grace. “There is a word in Elvhen that I think would interest you.” 

She sneered at him. “A vocabulary lesson? Really?”

He _tsk_ ed. “Just listen, _avise._ The word is ‘ _athdhea’lath_ ’. The translation is something like ‘almost-love’ or ‘dawn of love’.” He casually stretched his legs out and leaned back on his palms. “It refers to the feeling when you meet someone and are attracted to them, but you don’t know them very well; and yet, with time, you know you will come to love them.”

She scoffed despite the panicked beat of her heart. “And I guess you’re telling me this because you think I feel this way?”

“I know you do,” Felassan said. “But that is not why I am telling you this.”

His face was so serious, and his eyes… they were steady and warm and loaded with emotion. Emotion for _her_ — the same kind of emotion that she harboured for him. 

Emotion that she wanted so badly to believe in, but she just… she couldn’t. 

She stared hopelessly at him. A wave of misery was rising through her chest and throat and into her face, and when she couldn’t control her expression anymore, she covered her face with her hand.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and she sobbed and waved him off. “Don’t,” she begged. “Don’t… don’t be nice to me.”

“Tell me why this _athdhea’lath_ is a problem for you,” he said quietly.

She shrugged and sniffed hard. “I don’t — I don’t know,” she said tensely. “It shouldn’t be a problem. What kind of fucked-up person _panics_ about — about liking someone or someone liking them back? It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But it is,” he said. “Tell me why.”

He sounded so calm and patient — and uncannily like Solas, which made her feel more miserable still. She dragged in a shaky breath. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “I don’t… I can’t trust you.”

“Because of Solas,” Felassan said quietly.

“Yes, okay?” she said harshly. “Because of fucking Solas.” She roughly wiped her face.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned into her shoulder. “I think it’s time you told me a tale,” he said.

His tone was playful once more. She shot him a suspicious look. “A tale about what?”

“About yourself and the Dread Wolf,” he said. “I have told you many tales. It’s your turn to tell me one now.”

Despite his glib words, his expression was soft and expectant, and Tamaris swallowed hard and rolled her eyes. “Fuck’s sake, fine. Here’s a story for you: there was once a cranky girl who secretly talked to spirits, and she met a man who also secretly talked to spirits. They fell in love, or she thought they did. But he…” She trailed off and rubbed her forehead, then gave Felassan a frank look. “It was his fucking hot-and-cold. I thought I could trust him, and sometimes I did. There were moments when… when I honestly thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. But I can count those moments on a single hand.” She gazed moodily at the cold fireplace. “The rest of the time, part of my mind was always on edge, even when things were good between us. It was like I was always waiting for the next thing that would make him pissy or aloof.”

“Uncertainty,” Felassan said quietly. “That’s an insidious poison, even if wielded unknowingly.”

She scoffed. “You’re fucking right about that.”

He nodded an acknowledgement, but his face was still expectant. Tamaris sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “You’re not like him,” she said to him. “You’re not hot and cold like he was. You’re…” She trailed off as the key difference between Solas and Felassan crystallized in her mind. Solas had been warm one moment and aloof the next, approving one moment and angry the next, and Tamaris had always had trouble grasping the reasons why. Being with Solas had often felt like she was trying to read a book without knowing all the vocabulary involved. 

Felassan, on the other hand, was an open book with his emotions laid bare — and in the most honest, logical part of her mind, she _knew_ his emotions weren’t all due to the Tranquility cure. Where Solas was a juxtaposition of torrid heat and biting cold, Felassan was a constant, stable wash of vibrant warmth that had never wavered since the moment they’d met. 

Felassan was a newly cured Tranquil. He was volatile and unstable at times, but even with his instability, he was more stable and steadfast than Solas had ever been.

Tamaris knew this. So why couldn’t she make herself believe it?

He was still studying her expectantly. She blew out a breath and dragged her hands through her hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. If anything, _I’m_ the one who’s treating you like Solas treated me, and that’s just…” She trailed off again, then gave him a hard look. “You deserve better, okay? I’m being a complete bitch to you, but that’s nothing to do with you. You _seem_ genuine, and I have no reason to think you’re lying. There’s absolutely no reason to think you’re purposely hiding some big fucking earth-shattering secret from me.”

Felassan nodded. “And yet you still believe I might change the game on you, even if you know it is unlikely.”

“Yes,” Tamaris said, both relieved and distressed that he understood. “It’s so…” She broke off and exhaled tremulously. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“I know,” he said. “I know you don’t.” He shifted his shoulder against hers so she was tucked a bit more closely against his chest, and the subtle gesture was enough to bring a lump to her throat.

She tried to force it down with a swallow. “I really… I feel something for you, okay?” she said roughly. “Maybe I do have that… that _athdhea’lath_. But even just saying that makes me want to leave this fucking room right now. It’s like—” She broke off with a sob and pressed her fist to her mouth, then tried again. “It’s like there’s this stupid part of my brain that thinks you’re going to use that against me or something, even though I know you’re not. But how can I know for sure that you won’t, you know?” She wiped her cheeks. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

“Well,” Felassan said, “there is good news and bad news.”

She huffed at his casual tone. “Okay,” she said grumpily.

He shifted a little closer to her and gave her a knowing look. “I’m accustomed to fixing things with words. That is the work of a spy, after all: listening to words, keeping words, using them in the cleverest way when the time is right. I enjoy fixing things with words, and I am very good at it.” His expression sobered as he went on. “The bad news is that I cannot fix this with words. I can’t promise that I am different and make you believe me. I can’t tell you that I will never hurt you and make it true.”

Another tear spilled down her cheek, and she impatiently wiped it away. “So what, then?” she demanded. ‘I’m just fucked forever?” 

“No, Tamaris,” he said patiently. “That leads me to the good news. I said my words cannot fix this, but I did not say it cannot be fixed.”

“What fixes this, then?” she asked irritably.

“Time, mainly,” he said. “The more time we spend together, the more you will see: for all that I loved Solas and followed him, I am not Solas.”

His voice and expression were utterly serious now. Tamaris looked him in the eye. “I already know you’re not,” she said. “Seriously, Felassan, you’re… you’re unlike him in the most important ways. I already know that.”

He nodded. “One day, you’ll believe it. When you do, that will be the day you’re cured.”

She took a deep breath, then let it out in a heavy sigh and leaned into his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder, and she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling completely wrung out and spent.

They sat in Felassan’s little nest of cushions in silence for a while, and Tamaris breathed slowly and contemplated the strangeness of his comforting arm around her. Eventually, though, she lifted her head and gave him a sideways look. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask to your heart’s content,” he said.

She frowned slightly. “If you… felt something for me, why did you offer casual sex?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me how you felt? I mean, I — I have my excuse for not saying anything. I’m a mess. What’s your excuse?”

“I was unforgivably horny, of course,” Felassan said. “Isn’t that what you thought?”

His shit-eating smile was back, but Tamaris felt a pang of guilt. “Okay, okay, you were right,” she admitted. “I was kind of hiding behind your Tranquility cure.” She shot him a knowing look. “But you are really horny.”

He snickered. “Nothing gets past you.”

She tutted and elbowed him gently. “Seriously. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt? Why just offer sex?”

“I was operating on incomplete information,” he said. “I thought casual sex was all you wanted. But that was before I learned that you’d already had a casual affair with someone else without any of these… difficulties.” He gestured delicately between himself and her, then shrugged. “Besides, I told you I would not ask for more than you could give.”

She frowned at this. So he was saying that he’d offered her what he thought she wanted, even if it wasn’t what _he_ wanted? Why would he do that? 

He was still speaking. “If I had asked for what I wanted, would you have been able to give it?”

“No,” she admitted.

He nodded. “I had to start somewhere. With a woman as fine as you, anywhere is a good place to start.” He gave her a lascivious little smile. 

She scoffed and rubbed her nose. “You’re so full of shit.”

He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “There’s my flame-tongued vixen. I was worried for a moment that you’d gotten lost somewhere in that festering morass of angst.”

She snorted a laugh at his dramatic metaphor, but in truth, she was a little discomfited by what he’d just told her. It sounded like he was saying that he was happy to settle for less than he deserved. Why would he feel that way?

He released her and clapped his hands together. “Well, this has been quite the emotional adventure. All that’s left is the question of what happens next.”

Her belly jolted with nerves. After all that they’d both said, where _were_ they supposed to go from here?

“Okay,” she said warily. “Should we just… go back to being just friends?”

“Oh, no,” Felassan said cheerfully. “That’s a terrible idea.”

She stared at him, totally thrown off by his response. “Um,” she said. “Okay. Why…?”

“It’s naive to think we can go back,” he said. “Besides, we were never just friends. This _athdhea’lath_ has always been between us. Acting as though it doesn’t exist will just make it monstrous, like one of your modern-day heinous demons that’s begging to be fed.”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Gross. Okay. So… what do we do?”

He shrugged and smiled. “We do what feels good, with no expectations. We say yes or no to anything the other suggests, without resentment or judgment.”

“I see,” she said in bemusement. Then she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Does that include sex?”

He smirked. “I’m not the only horny one, it seems. If we both want it, then yes. If either of us is not in the mood, then no.”

She nodded slowly. His suggestion did make a certain amount of sense. He was right, after all; they couldn’t go back to being something platonic if their relationship hadn’t truly started that way. And if they _could_ have sex, knowing how they both felt but with Felassan respecting that she needed time to fully heal… 

It would be good for expelling his Tranquility-related urges, for one. And honestly, the sex had been fucking fantastic.

A ripple of heat shivered deep in her belly. She swallowed hard and gave him another sideways glance. “And what if I… need space? After sex, or… in general?”

His pleasant expression softened to something a bit more serious. “It would be nice if you talked to me instead of walking away. But if talking to me doesn’t make it better, then of course you can be alone.”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment. “So… so anything goes. We just… do whatever feels good, as long as we both agree?”

He smiled slowly at her. “This is a foreign concept to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “People usually prefer more clarity than this.”

He laughed. “Ah, yes. Clarity. That nebulous concept that people think they gain by imposing labels and boundaries.” He waved one hand in a lazily elegant gesture. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you come to enjoy the fluidity of simply sitting back and seeing what happens from one day to the next.”

“You’re old. I get it,” she said dryly.

“And wise,” he said. “Don’t forget wise.”

She laughed, then eyed him fondly. He smiled back at her, and the uncomplicated contentment in his face lifted her heart.

He nudged her shoulder. “Tell me, then. What do you think of my idea?”

_I really want to,_ she thought. She chewed her lip, then gave him a frank look. “Honestly, I… I think it sounds too good to be true.”

“But you want to try it,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” she admitted. “But… ugh. Felassan, I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But look, you told me you’re scared. You are talking instead of fleeing to your bedroom. You’re already doing it.”

She gave him a chiding look, then blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. Let’s try. We can… yeah, let’s try.”

A slow smile unfurled across his face like sunrise, and her heart thudded at how beautiful he was. “Good,” he said. “That’s very good.” He tilted his head. “What do you feel like doing now?”

She nibbled her lip and studied him. His smile was heated and mischievous and deliciously inviting, and Tamaris took a deep breath for courage before trying something new: she told Felassan how she felt. 

“I feel like I want to kiss you,” she said.

If possible, his smile broadened. “I think I would be amenable to that.”

She smirked at him, then dropped her gaze nervously to his lips. For some reason, she was even more nervous about this than she’d been about having sex with him last night. 

He shifted closer to her and slowly lifted his hand to her neck. His fingers drifted delicately along the side of her neck, and when he lifted her chin gently with his thumb, her lips parted in anticipation. 

He lowered his face to hers. He was smiling still, and Tamaris huffed quietly. “Smug brat,” she murmured.

“You wound me, _avise,_ ” he whispered, and he kissed her. 

She blissfully closed her eyes. His kiss was as thorough and attentive as always, his lips gliding over hers as a prelude to the smooth and teasing entry of his tongue, and Tamaris happily followed his lead as he led her in a delicate dance of pleasure with his gorgeous talented mouth. His tongue coaxed hers into a sinuous dance, luring her to lean toward him and nip the plumpness of his lower lip, and as she and Felassan sat on his cozy pile of cushions sinking into the exquisite enjoyment of each other’s lips, it slowly dawned on her that this kiss, if possible, was better than any they’d shared before.

This kiss was backed by the talk they’d had and the budding feelings they shared, edged with the delicacy of her fragile growing trust and his warm patience. His lips slanted firmly over hers, sealing in the eager little sounds he made as the kiss deepened with passion, and even as the thrum of desire started to build and grow between her legs, she realized something vital: this kiss with Felassan was more honest than any kiss she’d had with anyone since the second she’d laid eyes on the Breach. 

Her heart pulsed hotly in her chest. She grabbed the open collar of his shirt and licked his tongue, and a moment later, Felassan broke their kiss with a gasp.

His amethyst eyes were glittering with lust and more stunningly beautiful than any cut jewels she’d ever seen. He clasped her neck and pressed his forehead to hers, and they both breathed heavily for a moment. 

“Keep it in your pants, Tamaris,” he panted.

She smiled wordlessly at him. A bubble-like feeling was swelling in her belly, moving higher through her chest and up to her throat until she finally released it as a burst of laughter. 

Felassan started to laugh as well. Then they were both laughing hard, laughing like they had that time on the roof, but this time, the laughter wasn’t edged with hysteria or with the bitterness of the Dread Wolf.

This time, the laughter was pure and joyful. And for the first time in over a year, Tamaris felt a little bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. THE END.
> 
> JK JK I’M KIDDING. I still have plenty of plans for these fools. For example, they’ve only had sex once, which is unacceptable and must be rectified. 😇 
> 
> I should note now that the fic is going to start moving into more lore discussions ~~because Felassan is ancient and I couldn’t avoid them forever even though I wish I could LOL R.I.P. me~~. It’ll still be a lot of relationship talk and UST, OBVIOUSLY, but more lore too. 
> 
> To that end, there are going to be some _Tevinter Nights_ spoilers in future chapters, so I hope you guys are okay with that. I will write those chapters while keeping in mind that some of you haven’t read _Tevinter Nights_ , so you will still be able to follow along. 
> 
> Lore notes on this chapter: the stuff about Fenris's tattoos and the Sentinels being Knight-Enchanters (practitioners of the _dirth'ena enasal'in_ ) is my extrapolation of the canon information that we have. Feel free to comment or ask on Tumbles if you have questions about this. ALSO REMINDER THAT I LOVE FENRIS A LOT. 😂
> 
> In case anyone is wondering about the kitchen situation in Felassan and Tamaris’s house: let’s pretend they have an enchanted stove/oven that works similar to a modern one but without electricity because I’m fucking lazy. (And yes, I did sit here for like 10 minutes thinking about this. What, you mean no one else cares about their kitchen? HOW DARE.) Also, fun fact: the breakfast dish in this chapter is a ripoff of my favourite dish from this brunch place that I loved when I used to live in Montreal. I’M UNORIGINAL AND I HAVE NO REGRETS.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	12. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more low-key chapter today, with some lore! PLEASE BE GENTLE WITH ME, I'M BIG SCARE.

Over the course of the next few days, Tamaris and Felassan settled back into their routine of mana retraining, overhauling the house, smoking on the roof and eating the delicious food that Felassan prepared for them both. They played cards together and chatted idly about their lives, and they kept ripping on each other for fun just as they had done before. 

There was one very significant difference, however: Tamaris felt much more at ease now that she’d spoken more openly to Felassan about her relationship with Solas. She wasn’t thrilled that he’d witnessed her falling apart like she had, but the benefit of no longer feeling guilty or wary or just plain fucking _uncomfortable_ was so much of a relief that she almost wished they’d talked about it earlier.

That wasn’t to say her emotional landscape was by any means perfectly repaired. Explaining her qualms to Felassan was only the first step to getting her mind around the wound of mistrust that Solas had unwittingly left behind. But for the first time since Solas’s departure, Tamaris was starting to believe that the wound might actually heal. She still felt uneasy at times when Felassan touched her tenderly or when his soft gaze lingered on her for too long, but mild unease was better than panic. 

Felassan occasionally asked more questions about her relationship with Solas, and although her immediate response was to put up a wall and block him out, she forced herself to reply. She would never have imagined that talking candidly about her ex-lover with her current lover would be helpful instead of terribly awkward, but the truth was that it really seemed to help. In fact, as the days went by, Tamaris started to feel the way that Cole had described easing people’s pain: like something tangled inside of her had been loosened and was slowly being smoothed out with every day she spent in Felassan’s company. 

With Tamaris’s greater comfort came another _very_ enjoyable consequence: she and Felassan spent considerably more time indulging in their sexual appetites, which were just as great as their appetites for the scrumptious food that Felassan made. By the fourth day after their talk, however, they still hadn’t had sex again yet, or even done anything more than kiss and touch as much as they could through the barriers of their clothing. Their mana-training sessions now ended every time in a torrid clinch that left both of them breathless, and Felassan joked that the promise of Tamaris’s lips was the main driving force for his magical progress. They continued to sleep in their separate bedrooms, but Felassan kissed her every night before they retired to their rooms — that is, if ‘a kiss’ was what one could call it when Felassan pinned her against her bedroom door and ground himself into the cradle of her hips while she hungrily licked his tongue. Every night when he stepped away from her, she would stare at the blazing glow of his eyes and the rise and fall of his collarbones as he panted for breath, and an invitation for him to join her in her bed crept closer and closer to the tip of her tongue.

But she kept the words to herself, and Felassan didn’t push. And so they continued to fall together into increasingly ravenous embraces as the days went on, embraces which always ended in them breaking apart and grinning stupidly at each other while they tried to breathe through the lust that was swelling over them with all the delicious weight of a summer thunderhead.

Tamaris wasn’t sure what exactly had made them both decide not to push their physical relationship back into sex just yet. They hadn’t explicitly talked about waiting, yet both she and Felassan would stop themselves when her grinding against his lap got right to the point where one or both of them was nearly ready to burst, or when his fingers started playing over the laces of her bra or her breeches. Maybe Felassan could sense that she wanted to hold off for a bit before launching back into the sex that they both so clearly wanted. Or maybe Tamaris could see that he was trying to gain more control over his urges. Either way, the tension between them continued to grow — in a delicious, mutual way that was not at all like the demon that Felassan had so colourfully described — and it wasn’t long before Tamaris became convinced that what was really happening was an unspoken game of who-gives-in-first. Was Tamaris going to give in and tell Felassan to fuck her again? Or was Felassan going to be the one to turn those delicious pleasured moans of his into an actual plea for her to join him in his room?

Neither of them could say, and neither of them was ready to cave. And yet, without speaking about it, Tamaris knew without a doubt that Felassan was enjoying – and cursing – the torturous pleasure of their fully-clothed trysts as much as she was. 

Aside from their more physical pursuits, a more intellectual one also came back into play; Felassan started reading _This Shit Is Weird_ with more focus, as he seemed determined to get to the part of the book that mentioned the Inquisition’s encounter with the Titan. When he finished reading about their ordeal at Adamant Fortress and their tumble into the Fade, however, the resulting discussion took most of an afternoon. 

Felassan wanted to hear as much from Tamaris’s perspective about what had happened and how Solas reacted. When Tamaris explained how the Nightmare had tried to unnerve everyone by picking away at their greatest fears, Felassan raised his eyebrows. 

“I don’t suppose you remember what this Nightmare demon said to Fen’Harel?” he asked.

“It was something in Elvhen, so I don’t really know,” she said. “It said it knew him, though, which I just chalked up to Solas making weird friends in the Fade. But Solas did also say he’d never been to that sector of the Fade before…” She rubbed her forehead. “Fuck, I wish I remembered.”

“Shame,” Felassan said. “I would have liked to know what a demon would use against him to unnerve him during the time that he was with you.”

“I can tell you the three main things that unnerved him,” Tamaris said dryly. “Killing archdemons, Morrigan getting stuff wrong at the Temple of Mythal, and tea.”

Felassan’s face went slack with surprise. Then he barked out a laugh. “I may fall over from that onslaught. Morrigan — she was with the Inquisition? You were at the Temple of Mythal?”

“Yeah, we — oh, you haven’t gotten to the Halamshiral part of the book yet,” she said. “Morrigan joined the Inquisition after the whole shitshow at Halamshiral. Solas was less than thrilled with her, especially when we got to the Temple of Mythal. They were like cats and dogs.”

Felassan stared at her, then snorted a laugh. “You were at the Temple of Mythal with–” Another little snort cut him off. “–with Mythal’s alleged daughter and Fen’Harel who was trying to pass as a simple apostate…” He guffawed.

Tamaris couldn’t help but smile. “When you put it that way, it is pretty funny.”

“Funny!” Felassan exclaimed. “It’s the makings of a farce!” Another burst of laughter spilled from his lips. He dragged in a breath and patted his belly. “I can only imagine the steam that must have been coming out of his ears.” 

Tamaris chuckled. “Yeah. You should have seen him when that Sentinel guy Abelas came out. He almost lost it.”

Felassan’s face went slack once more. “Abelas? _Abelas_?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tamaris said with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you knew him.”

“Huge tall warrior, gold eyes, white hair, very stern?”

She raised her eyebrows. “He was wearing a hood so I don’t know about the hair, but the rest, yeah.”

A grin lit Felassan’s face, and he let out another rolling belly laugh. “Fen’Harel faced Abelas and lost his composure. He… _fenedhis._ It’s…” He slapped his palm on the table and continued to laugh. Tears of mirth were leaking from the corners of his eyes now, and his laughter was becoming loud and uncontrolled. 

She shifted closer to him. “Hey, take it easy. You need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.” She held out her hand.

He grabbed her hand and dragged in a breath, then let it out in an explosion of hysteria. Tamaris squeezed his hand. “Come on, brat, look at me.”

He chuckled wheezily and met her eyes, and Tamaris smiled at him. “Okay, let’s breathe. Come on.”

He exhaled another chuckle, then breathed in hard through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “I need to read more of this book,” he said. “I can’t wait to devour that chapter.”

“No kidding,” she said dryly. “Should we go back to talking about the Nightmare then? Save the Solas-bitching-at-Morrigan stories for when that part of the book comes up?”

Felassan nodded and exhaled another slow breath. “Yes, let’s.”

“Okay,” she said. She released his hand. “What did you want to know next?”

“I have a question for you, in fact,” he said. “What did the Nightmare use to unnerve you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, _that’s_ a personal question.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “ And I believe you still owe me a secret.”

His smirk was mischievous but somehow also soft. Tamaris scoffed. “That’s how it is, huh?”

“It certainly is,” he said pleasantly. 

She gave him a chiding look, then sighed. “Fine. It…” She looked down and rubbed at the tiny dent in her prosthetic arm. “It mocked me about breaking promises.”

“Breaking promises?” he asked. 

“Promises to… protect people who need help protecting themselves,” she muttered.

 _Marin being dragged away screaming by the Templars._ The memory flashed across her mind, and she looked away from Felassan and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The Nightmare’s sealed away, so fuck it.”

“You’re thinking of Marin,” he said quietly. 

She clenched her jaw, then forced herself to look him in the eye. “Yes. So what?”

Felassan tilted his head. “She who dances with fire,” he said quietly.

She snorted and looked down at her metal fingers. “For whatever good that does.”

“An entire novel’s worth, at least,” he said. He gestured at _This Shit Is Weird_. “ _I’m_ certainly compelled by the heroine of this novel. I imagine I would throw myself at her feet if ever we were to meet.”

She rolled her eyes at his irreverent tone. “Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled, then leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet onto the table. “I have to ask: did Fen’Harel comment on the Black City at all?”

“He pointed it out,” she said. “He seemed excited to see it. Well, he was excited about everything, even though we were in a really gross weird part of the Fade.”

Felassan nodded slowly, and Tamaris frowned. “Felassan, tell me something. What _is_ the Black City?”

“What do _you_ think the Black City is?” he asked.

She gave him a flat look. “I’m sure you already know what most Dalish think. It’s where the Creators were trapped by Fen’Harel. I didn’t really have any reason to question that before the Breach happened. But… I don’t know. It’s strange. Corypheus said the Black City was empty and tainted already when he and his evil magister buddies got there, which is counter to the Chantry story about those magisters turning it black and creating the Blight.” She narrowed her eyes. “But here’s the thing. The Black City is in the Fade and _only_ in the Fade, which seems to imply that it’s not a so-called ‘real’ place, right? At least not if things in the Fade are just a reflection of dreamers’ minds or what spirits build from the things they see. But after visiting the Vir Dirthara, knowing that some places could be made from the real world _and_ the Fade, it stands to reason that some places could also be made from just the Fade.” She looked askance at him, and her belly did a pleasant flip; he was smiling broadly at her. 

“Go on,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “The Black City is actually Arlathan, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “What the Chantry calls the Black City is the remains of ancient Arlathan.”

Tamaris’s eyes widened at the confirmation. “Holy fuck. So… so wait. Wait.” A buzz of unreality was starting to raise her pulse. “If the Black City is Arlathan, then it can’t be the kingdom of the Maker if Arlathan is Elvhen and the Maker is Chantry bullshit.”

If possible, his smile grew even wider, and Tamaris’s belly swooped with amazement. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Felassan.”

“Yes, Tamaris?” he said cheerfully.

“There is no Maker, is there?” she breathed.

He casually linked his fingers behind his head. “There isn’t, no. The Maker is a figment of human imagination and nothing more.”

She gaped at him. The sense of vertigo in her head was growing as the enormity of this fact thudded in her ears. _The Maker isn’t real. The Maker doesn’t exist. The humans were wrong._

She burst out a laugh. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “This is amazing. And horrible. I can’t decide whether to laugh because I fucking knew it, or — I mean, I knew it but I couldn’t prove it.” She laughed again and shook her head. “Can you imagine the fucking mess it’ll make if this becomes common knowledge?”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Felassan said pleasantly. “The irony is nearly funny, until one remembers that the progeny of our people were crushed under the heels of humans in the name of a being who doesn’t exist.”

Tamaris sobered. “Fuck.” 

He smile faded slightly, and he gave her an apologetic look. “I regret to point out as well that you don’t actually have proof that what I’ve said is true. So this is probably not something that you should go running through the streets of Val Royeaux to advertise.”

She wilted. “Ugh. Yeah, you’re right.”

“An unfortunate curse of being so old and clever,” he said complacently. “But you can continue to bask in the satisfaction of being correct, if you like.”

She huffed. “Feels kind of macabre to gloat about it now, but thanks for the offer.”

Felassan nodded graciously, and Tamaris sighed and propped her elbows on the table. “So everyone’s religion is a bunch of incorrect bullshit. We’re all together in that, at least.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s an optimistic outlook for you. Sort of.” He smirked. “In a charmingly cynical sort of way.” 

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” she said wryly. “How nice to have something all in common. We can all swim in bullshit together.”

He smiled at her without speaking, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s at moments like this that I can imagine why your followers literally sang your praises,” he said.

She couldn’t quite decide if he was being sarcastic or not, but she rolled her eyes regardless. “And the rest of the time they probably wondered how the fuck they got saddled with such a ham-fisted bitch as a leader, right?”

“No,” Felassan said seriously. “I am certain that the rest of the time, they found you formidable and fearsome.”

Her ears started feeling hot. She looked away from him. “Uh-huh.”

He chuckled and idly waved one of his bare feet. After a brief pause, Tamaris glanced at him thoughtfully. “You don’t have any other questions about our little trip to the Fade, then?”

“Nothing more at this moment,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I have another question for you, then. Why was Solas so angry about the Grey Wardens trying to seek out the archdemons and kill them? He would never explain that to me. He always just… talked his way around it.” 

Felassan’s pleasant expression instantly sobered and sharpened, and her heart skipped a beat in alarm. When he shifted his feet to the floor and turned to face her, her pulse kicked into an anxious trot. 

“That is probably the most important question you have asked me,” he said. “And I’ll tell you now if you want — as much as I know, at least, which I regret to admit is actually not everything.” He tapped _This Shit Is Weird._ “But I would prefer to finish reading this book first.”

“Why?” she said nervously.

“The answer will be easier to explain if I know first what _you_ know.”

She frowned more deeply, and Felassan leaned toward her. “I am not trying to dodge your question, Tamaris. This is not an attempt to deceive you. I will tell you now if that’s what you want.”

He had _that_ look on his face again: the look of ineffable weariness and melancholy that she now associated solely with elves from ancient Elvhenan. Tamaris studied him with a growing writhing of worry in her gut while she mulled over his words, then finally shook her head. “It’s okay. I can wait.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Are you certain?”

A pang of fondness poked at her heart. He was clearly making an active effort not to prevaricate like Solas had always done. “I’m certain,” she assured him. “It’s just… now I’m scared of what you’re going to say.”

He smiled faintly, but somehow the smile only made his face more serious. “When the world looks the way it does, being afraid is the only intelligent response,” he said. “Only fools will tread through these days without caution.” 

His words made her gut twist a little more, and she wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s grim of you. Someone needs to cheer the fuck up.”

His sad little smile warmed to something more genuine and Felassan-like. “Not grim. Just realistic. And that was unusually optimistic of you, for the second time today. Have you been nipping into the deep mushroom without me?”

She huffed in amusement. “No. The felandaris, on the other hand…”

He laughed heartily. “Nice try, but you’d be frothing at the mouth if you were nipping into that without my help.”

“Good to know,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you wake me up at the crack of dawn.”

His smile curled with mischief. “Then I’ll be sure not to drink anything you prepare for me anytime soon.”

She returned his smile, then eyed him speculatively. Something strange had just occurred to her — something that she had just assumed, but had never actually asked him.

He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table again. “Ask, _avise,_ ” he said warmly. “I can practically see the questions flitting through that lovely ebony-haired head of yours.”

“I was just wondering,” she said. “Do you miss it?”

“Do I miss what?” he asked.

“Arlathan,” she said. “Your time. All of it.”

His smile faded, but this time in a pensive way. He was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was somber. “The time when I was born was both more and less than the Dalish could ever imagine,” he said. “Spirits did not just walk alongside us; they _were_ us. Magic infused every structure that we built and every footstep that we walked, potent and tangible as the blood that flows through your veins.” He let out a wistful little laugh. “We had these gardens: beautiful wild gardens bursting with flowers of every size, in shapes and colours that have no words in this language. And yet, despite the beauty, it was rotting from the inside out. The equality and cooperation that the Dalish imagine did not exist. We could be petty and power-hungry and short-sighted. We had great capacity for creativity, and we squandered it on competitions and power struggles like any human nobles from this time.”

“You’ve mentioned this before,” she said gently. “But that’s not what I asked you. Do _you_ miss it?”

His expression blanked with surprise for a brief moment, just the way it did every time she asked him specifically about his feelings or his thoughts. A sudden rush of affection filled her chest, followed by the usual instinctive feeling of vulnerability at how much affection she bore for him already.

She swallowed hard to try and relax. Felassan, meanwhile, was frowning thoughtfully at his feet. “There are things I miss,” he said slowly. “Those gardens I mentioned, for one. The food, for another; some ingredients are just impossible to find in this time. But I think what I miss the most is… knowing who I was. Knowing my purpose, and knowing that everything I did was a step toward that purpose, even if my steps seemed convoluted or indirect. Always intentionally, of course, in keeping with a slow arrow,” he added with a sly little smile. 

Tamaris nodded silently. Then Felassan sighed. “If there is anything I truly miss, it is knowing who I was. I was the slow arrow of Fen’Harel. I was the silent strike that they failed to notice until it was too late.” He met her eyes. “I am not sure who I am now.”

“You can still be a slow arrow, if that’s what you want,” she said. “You just need a new target.”

He gazed at her silently for a moment, and Tamaris watched with an increasingly erratic pulse as his pensive frown morphed into something undeniably tender. 

He slowly lowered his feet to the floor and leaned toward her, and when his hand rose to carefully cradle her neck, her breath hitched with excitement and just a hint of fear. 

He brushed her jawline with his thumb. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured. 

She nodded dumbly, and Felassan smiled before lowering his lips to hers. He kissed her carefully, his lips pulling at hers in a series of slow and infinitely gentle kisses that kicked her pulse into a faster beat while also lulling her into a sense of dreamlike contentment. It was a clear contrast from the scorchingly passionate kisses they usually shared, and by the time Felassan pulled away, her heart was pounding her ears and her throat, and she couldn’t quite decide whether it was panic or pleasure or something more tender — and far more terrifying — that was kicking her heart into such a rapid beat. 

His smile was so warm and his eyes so meltingly soft, and she wasn’t ready yet to accept everything that they implied. She took a tremulous breath and dropped his gaze. “Felassan, I’m — this is…”

“I know,” he said gently, and he released her neck and leaned back. “But it was a good kiss, wasn’t it?” 

She smirked at him despite her nerves. He was such a smug brat. “It was passable,” she said dismissively. 

He barked out a laugh. “Passable! You cut me deeply, _avise._ Fortunately for you, I don’t hold grudges.” Then he stood up and chivalrously offered her his hand. “Come. We have so much wallpaper to strip from the study and so little time to do it.”

She playfully smacked his hand away and rose to her feet, and they continued to tease each other good-naturedly as they made their way to the study. But as Tamaris carefully peeled long strips of ugly gold-striped paper from the walls, she couldn’t help but worry about the question she’d asked Felassan about Solas and the archdemons. 

She couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble the answer would bring – not just to the cocoon of peace she and Felassan were building around themselves, but to the entire world at large.

She forced herself to put the worries aside for now. For now, she had a mansion to strip of all its gaudy gold trappings, and she had a handsome companion by her side to strip it with.

And maybe soon, when the time was ripe, some stripping of a more pleasurable kind would happen as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes: the Black City being Arlathan is a pretty common hypothesis. The Maker being not real is based mainly on some canon quotes from ya boi Felassan from the Masked Empire, among other vague reasons lol.
> 
> 'Twas a short chapter today, but two more longer chapters later this week. It was meant to be one, but it grew out of control. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to swing by and say hello! xo


	13. Tricks

The next morning, Felassan was oddly distracted. 

Tamaris noticed that something was strange from the moment she stepped into the main room for breakfast. Felassan was sitting in front of the fireplace with _This Shit Is Weird_ , but he wasn’t looking at the book; instead, his head was tilted, and he had a peculiar look on his face. He somehow looked blank and attentive and confused at the same time.

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

His eyes drifted to her face. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated. “You look like you’re hearing something weird. Are ancient elves able to hear frequencies that regular elves can’t?”

He smiled at her, but he still looked distracted. “Very funny, _avise_. Have you had your tea yet?” 

_No snappy comeback?_ she thought in surprise. She eyed him warily as she replied. “No, not yet. I just got downstairs.” 

“Ah, of course,” he said. He rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, and Tamaris followed him. 

“Seriously, is everything okay?” she asked. 

He smiled at her as he pulled a tray of pastries out of the oven where they were keeping warm. “Everything is at least fine, yes. Some things are even good.” He set the tray on the island counter. “These pastries, for instance. I might actually go so far as to say these pastries are excellent.”

She relaxed slightly and rolled her eyes. “If you do–” 

“–say so myself, yes,” he finished with a grin. He bowed his head to her. “As always, you will be the judge.” 

She hopped up to sit on the island counter, then picked up a sticky pastry and took a bite. Crumbs of pastry instantly flaked onto her lap, and Tamaris hastily wiped them off as she chewed. The pastry had a decadent filling of ground nuts and honey and spices between its layers, and she savoured the play of warmth and sweetness on her tongue before swallowing the bite. 

Felassan was watching her expectantly. She shrugged. “It’s not bad,” she said. She smirked and took another big bite. 

He chuckled. “So hard to please.”

 _You please me when you’re hard,_ she thought, but she didn’t dare say that out loud. She swallowed her food before speaking again. “I’ll have a second one after this. Maybe it’ll change my mind.”

“That’s an excellent plan,” he said. Then he reached out and delicately wiped a bit of glaze from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. 

A shiver of warmth rippled through her chest. She instinctively licked her lips, but Felassan wasn’t looking at her anymore; he looked preoccupied again, and the way his head was tilted was strongly reminding her of a mabari that had heard a funny noise. 

She lowered her half-eaten pastry. “Hey,” she said firmly. “I can see that something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Not wrong,” he said vaguely. “Just… strange. It may be a consequence of my improving magical control.”

“ _What’s_ a consequence of that?” she said.

“The…” He trailed off, then met her eye once more with a smile. “My magic is playing tricks on me today,” he said. “I think I’ll go train in the library. Join me when you’re finished.”

“Okay,” she said blankly, but he was already walking away.

She frowned, then quickly finished off her pastry and gulped down a mug of anti-withdrawal tea before going to the library. Felassan was already sitting cross-legged on the rug with his eyes closed and a little frown of concentration on his face, and Tamaris settled herself on the rug across from him. 

She observed him silently for a moment. Then a small smile pulled at his lips. Without opening his eyes, he said, “Contrary to popular shem opinion, we elves can’t actually read each other’s minds. If you would like me to kiss you, you’ll need to ask.”

She scoffed. Then she frowned. “Wait, are there humans who actually think we can read each other’s minds?”

“Oh, yes,” Felassan said. “Didn’t you know? That’s how we’re able to coordinate amongst ourselves to steal their goods and their children for our wicked elvhen blood sacrifices.” He tilted his head. “Or was it their pets? Either their pets or their children. One of the two.”

Tamaris clicked her tongue. “I wish I could say you’re full of shit, but I bet you really did hear that, didn’t you?”

He opened his eyes. “I read it, in fact. A controversial article that was published by some pseudo-intellectual at some point after the Fifth Blight.” A faint smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “Fortunately, the same article made some rather scandalous claims about Chantry sisters’ bathing practices, so it wasn’t widely circulated.”

She snorted a disdainful little laugh. “Thank fuck for small mercies.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “How did you get your hands on this article if it was so under-circulated?”

“I was once a very good spy, if you’ll recall,” he said knowingly. “In addition, I was bored and feeling creative. It took great effort, I assure you.”

Something about his earnest tone made her suspicious. She gave him a skeptical look, and he grinned. “All right, you got me. I found a sodden copy in a puddle when I was travelling past Denerim.”

“You picked trash out of a puddle?” she said in amusement. 

Felassan shrugged. “I told you, I was bored. True boredom is the spark that lifts the mundane into the marvelous.”

She snickered. “If I ever get so bored that I need to read shitty anti-elf propaganda that I found in a puddle, please shove me off the roof.”

He bowed his head politely. “I solemnly promise to never let you become so bored.” 

She smiled at him, then gestured at his upturned palms. “Do you want to practice against me?” she asked. They had just started some low-pressure sparring a couple of days ago, where Felassan would attempt to strike Tamaris’s barriers with just the amount of magical force needed to break them — no more force and no less. It was a good exercise for him to control the strength of his attacks while she tried to increase the duration of her barriers.

“I would be delighted,” he said. 

Tamaris nodded, then cast a barrier. She held the barrier for as long as she could — just over four seconds. By the time she released the protective green glow, however, Felassan hadn’t managed to conjure any ice. 

He grimaced. “My apologies. Let’s try again.”

She nodded, then took a second to center herself before casting another barrier. But once again, Felassan wasn’t able to produce any ice.

 _That’s okay,_ she reminded herself. It was possible that Felassan was having another ‘down’ day with his casting. 

They kept on training, but ten minutes later, Felassan had only managed to hit her barrier with one ball of ice, and it was too faint to break her barrier. By now, this was very unusual. Felassan had progressed to the point that he was producing an accurate strike seven out of ten times that he tried. Even on a more difficult day, he was able to produce ice about half of the time. 

Even more unusual, however, was the fact that he wasn’t getting angry. 

He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, which was pulled back into a loose but elegant braid. “I am sorry, Tamaris. Let’s go again,” he said. He sounded resigned but calm, and it was such a departure from his overly-casual jokes or his cure-mediated lashes of temper that she was starting to actually worry. 

She held up a hand. “Hang on a second. Is this…” She trailed off and tried to find a tactful way to ask why he was having so much trouble making ice today. She didn’t want to make him feel bad, especially since it really could be that he was having an off day, but she suspected that it was more than that. 

“You said your magic is playing tricks on you,” she finally said. “What did you mean?”

He sighed again. “I’m having this… this fleeting feeling as though I can sense some magic nearby.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Like an ancient elvhen artifact or something?”

He blinked. “Not necessarily something elvhen. Just something putting out magic.” He lifted one eyebrow. “That was a specific guess, though.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “Solas used to say that he could feel these ancient elvhen artifacts all over the place that strengthened the Veil. I realized later that the fucking things were probably weakening the Veil to make it easier for him to bring it down.”

“Not necessarily,” Felassan said, to her surprise. “I know the artifacts you speak of. I had a hand in installing some of them.”

She gaped at him. “You did?”

“Yes,” he said. “And they don’t either weaken _or_ strengthen the Veil: they can do both. They moderate its strength, and thus can be used to dampen or reinforce it. From what you have told me and what Varric wrote, Fen’Harel likely really was helping you to strengthen it.”

She frowned. “That’s counterproductive to him, though. Why would he do that?”

“Why do _you_ think he would do that?” Felassan asked.

She shot him an annoyed look, but he simply raised his eyebrows. She sighed. “When I last saw him, he said some shit about wanting us to be comfortable in the few years before he kills us all. He was talking about the qunari specifically — not letting us all get converted to the Qun, I mean.” She shrugged irritably. “But I guess keeping us safe from demons would count too.”

“It seems that he _was_ trying to strengthen the Veil, then, at least temporarily,” Felassan said.

“I guess,” she said grumpily. Then she shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “But we weren’t talking about him. We were talking about you.”

A smile cleared the seriousness from his face. “You flatter me.”

“And you’re being cagey,” she said quietly.

His smile faded. “That is not my intent. I truly can’t explain the feeling better than this.” He waved vaguely at his head. “It just feels like there’s something nearby that is emitting magic. Something that’s not you or me, I mean.” He pulled a little face. “I feel foolish asking this, but… you wouldn’t happen to have any active magical items in your belongings, would you?”

“Like a staff, you mean?” she asked.

“Or something enchanted or spelled,” he said. “Not just an inert magical object, though. Something that might be actively putting out magic even though I couldn’t feel it before…” He frowned and shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

She gazed at him sympathetically. “I don’t–”

He interrupted her. “If it was coming from an actively emitting item, I would have felt it from the moment I arrived here. There’s no logical reason I would be feeling it now and not before.”

His voice was edged with tension now, and Tamaris shifted closer to him. “What can I do to help?” she asked.

“You could bludgeon me over the head,” he said. “Maybe that will knock any baseless sensations out of my mind.” He let out a light little laugh that contradicted the crease between his eyebrows. 

“Tempting, but I’ll pass,” she said. She gently took his hand. “Do you want to keep practicing?”

He squeezed her fingers, then released her hand. “Not right now. I think I’ll go and read some more.” He smirked. “Varric has given me so many tempting options.”

“Uh-huh,” she said wryly. “Where are you in _Swords and Shields?_ ”

“I’ve reached the part where the guard-captain is trying to pretend she isn’t madly in love with the guardsman,” he said. He tutted in mock dismay. “We devoted readers all know the truth, though. It’s just a matter of time until she cedes to the base desires of her heart.”

Tamaris forced herself not to smile. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Sounds like hack writing to me.”

Felassan’s lips curved into a slow and beautiful smile. “Maybe you should refresh your memory of this book, then. It’s quite well-crafted for something written in the common tongue.”

She scoffed. “And old Elvhen romance novels were so much better-written?”

“Old Elvhen romance novels were not just written, _avise_ ,” he said. “They were rendered in full bursting colour with sounds and scents and sensations to match.” He waved one hand in a lazy but expansive gesture. “They were imagination distilled into veilfire and inscribed on pages for travellers to sink into whenever their hearts desired.”

“Wait,” she said in surprise. “You’re saying romance novels were recorded the same way as memories like in the Vir Dirthara? With that much, um, detail?”

He raised one eyebrow slyly. “Now do you see why I needed hobbies when I woke up in this time?”

She stared at him in amazement. He chuckled and rose to his feet. “Come, Tamaris,” he said. “I have reading to do. And I think you said you wanted to prime the main room walls for painting.”

“Yeah,” she said blankly. “That’s, uh, that’s right.” 

They traipsed down the stairs into the study and back through to the main room, and Felassan settled into his usual spot in front of the fireplace while Tamaris laid out some sheets on the floor to catch any drips of primer. He hummed softly to himself as he opened _This Shit Is Weird_ , and for a time they both did their own activities in a peaceful quiet. 

But Tamaris was watching him from the corner of her eye, and she soon noticed that he was, once again, having trouble focusing on his book. On more than one occasion, he stared fixedly at the page for a good ten seconds before seeming to refocus.

After the third time that it happened, Tamaris was about to say something when he suddenly stood up. “I’m going to make lunch,” he said, and he headed for the kitchen.

 _Huh?_ she thought. “But – wait, it’s not even eleven o’clock yet.”

“Time is but a slave to the wishes of my growling stomach,” he called over his shoulder. 

She frowned. Was she just imagining it, or did he sound a little bit on-edge? 

She put down her paintbrush and covered the bucket of primer, but before she could follow Felassan into the kitchen, someone knocked on the door. 

It was Varric, with a fresh batch of supplies. “Morning,” he said, and he held out a bag of produce. 

“Hey,” she said vaguely. She took the bag and stood back to let him in, and he gave her a guarded look as he stepped inside. 

“Everything okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I don’t know.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Tamaris suddenly realized what he was thinking of. He hadn’t been back to the house since she and Felassan had… sorted themselves out. 

“Oh,” she said, and she waved one hand dismissively. “No no, it’s not — yeah, no, that’s fine. We’re, um…” She cleared her throat. “We’re fine.”

His eyebrows rose further. “Really?”

 _Damn it,_ she thought. She could feel her ears and cheeks warming. She gave Varric an exasperated look. “Yes, Varric, everything’s fine. I’m done being a total bitch for now. I’ll go back to being just a partial bitch.”

He patted her elbow. “If you say so, Cuddles.”

She clicked her tongue and gently shoved his shoulder, and he chuckled as he followed her toward the kitchen. “What did you think I was asking about?” he asked.

She pulled a little face. “Uh, you’ll see. Maybe. Or maybe it’ll be fine.”

“Oh. Great,” Varric said flatly. “A vague and ominous answer. My favourite.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, then entered the kitchen. “Varric is here,” she said to Felassan. She seated herself on the kitchen island and inhaled appreciatively; Felassan was rolling out flatbread dough while a pot simmered on the stove, filling the kitchen with a delicious scent of beans and cumin and spices. 

Felassan nodded to Varric. “You should give us advance notice when you come, my friend. This dish will be a spicy one.”

Tamaris snorted in amusement, and Varric sighed. “I can handle some spice, okay?” he said wearily. “I just like to be warned ahead of time.”

“That takes all the fun out of it,” Tamaris remarked.

Varric shot her a skeptical look. “Having a hole burnt in my tongue isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

“More’s the pity,” Felassan said drolly, then turned back to his flatbreads.

Tamaris frowned slightly. He’d just missed a perfect opening for some kind of clever joke. She slid off of the kitchen island and sidled up to the counter where he was working.

His expression was oddly blank as he rolled out another flatbread. Tamaris eyed him shrewdly for a second, then tried once more to engage him. “What, no poached eggs for me? I’m disappointed.”

He gave her a warm but distinctly distracted smile. “I can make them if you want.”

She wilted. She was expecting some sort of crack about her being a pampered princess. She rested her hand on his forearm. “Hey,” she said softly. “Put this aside for now and let’s try to figure out what’s going on with your magic—” 

“How?” he suddenly burst out. “How do you propose to solve this? Fen’Harel’s marvelous breathing exercises aren’t going to help, I assure you.”

“What’s going on?” Varric said warily. 

Tamaris looked at Felassan. “Can I tell him?

“Of course,” Felassan said. “Tell the least magical person in the room what the magical problem is. I’m sure that’ll yield a solution.”

Varric raised his eyebrows, and Tamaris gently squeezed Felassan’s arm, but she didn’t need to say a word; Felassan immediately sighed and gave Varric an apologetic look. “Varric, forgive me,” he said quietly. “I usually preserve my rudeness for special occasions. Very gauche of me to use my insults at such a common time.” 

“No offense taken,” Varric said. “But I am kind of curious now about, uh, what’s going on.”

Felassan frowned and rubbed his forehead, so Tamaris explained. “He said he’s getting this feeling like there’s something putting out magic somewhere nearby.”

“Like an item with a rune?” Varric asked.

“No,” Felassan said harshly. “Like a staff or something more active. It feels like… like intermittent bursts of magic that come and go. I haven’t felt anything like it since I’ve been here.”

“And I don’t have any items here that emit magic like that,” Tamaris added.

Varric looked at her in surprise. “Yeah, you do,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“You do have something that puts out magic,” Varric said. Then he grimaced slightly. “At least I think it does. Isn’t that what Sparkler’s sending crystal does when he calls you on it?”

Tamaris’s jaw dropped, and Felassan looked between them with a frown. “Sending crystal…?”

“The sending crystal,” she exclaimed. “Dorian’s — oh, for fuck’s sake. I wonder if — shit. Varric, you might be a genius.” If Dorian’s sending crystal really was the source of Felassan’s discomfort, then it would prove to him that his magic was acting normally and that he didn’t have anything to worry about. 

She shoved away from the counter and ran up the stairs to find the sending crystal. Now to see if she could remember where she’d put the damned thing when she’d first unpacked. 

She burst into her bedroom and went straight to the dresser, then started rifling haphazardly in the drawers. The fact that she _didn’t_ know exactly where the sending crystal was only highlighted the fact that she hadn’t spoken to Dorian in a few months. 

_Him or any of the others, really,_ she thought guiltily. Shit, she really had shut everyone out after the Exalted Council. 

She dug around in her drawers, to no avail. Annoyed now, she threw open the armoire and began going through the empty haversack that was crumpled on the armoire floor. 

“Any luck?” Felassan said.

She glanced over her shoulder to find him leaning casually against the doorjamb. “Not yet,” she said, then turned back to the armoire. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have flatbreads to supervise?”

“They’re not cooking yet,” he said. “I thought I’d help you search for this sending crystal item.”

She waved vaguely at him. “It’s okay, I’ll find it eventually. It’s not like I have that much stuff to dig through.” She tutted and tossed the empty haversack down on the floor of the armoire. “Shit. Where the fuck is it?” She stood up and started rifling through the hidden pockets of her cloak.

Then Felassan’s arm slid around her waist from behind. 

He stepped closer to her, and she smirked and playfully patted his arm. “You rogue. What are you—?” 

She broke off with a tiny gasp. The hard ridge of his cock was pushing up against the small of her back. 

He pressed his nose to her temple and inhaled, then brushed his lips over the tip of her ear, and Tamaris shivered as his reply wafted across her ear. “I’m helping you search,” he murmured. 

“You are not,” she said weakly. “You’re being extremely _un_ helpful, actually.” 

He smiled, and she could feel the curl of his lips against her ear. He hugged her more firmly around the waist and flexed his hips to rub himself against her ass, and she gasped and braced herself on the open armoire door. 

“Felassan,” she whispered harshly. Then she arched her spine and gasped again as his hand slid up to cup her breast.

He didn’t reply, only made a breathy little sound of satisfaction against her ear. While he teased her nipple through the barrier of her clothes, his other hand was swiftly pulling her shirt out of the waistband of her loose drawstring trousers. His hand snaked beneath her shirt to lay flat on her belly, and she stopped breathing. 

Then his fingers started shifting down toward her waistband. 

The tips of his elegant fingers slid into her trousers, and a rush of pure and dizzying _want_ flooded her brain, but she grabbed his hand with her metal one. 

“Wait,” she rasped.

His fingers stopped moving, and for a handful of heartbeats, neither of them moved. Then Felassan kissed the edge of her ear. “I can practically smell your need, you know,” he whispered.

Another ruthless pulse of lust throbbed between her legs. He wasn’t wrong; she could feel her eagerness painting the fabric of her smallclothes from a mere minute of his hands on her body, and judging from the rock-hard ridge pressing against the curves of her ass, Felassan’s need was just as great. 

But the roar of their mutual lust wasn’t the point. With no small amount of regret, she pulled his hand out of her trousers and turned around to meet his faintly glowing eyes. “Why are you doing this now?” she asked quietly. 

“Because I want you, of course,” he said immediately. “If you’ve forgotten already what my desire looks like, I’m happy to remind you.”

She ignored his cheeky remark. “I know you want me,” she said. “But why now?”

A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Because…” He paused, then suddenly took hold of her waist and pushed her back against the dresser.

He slid his hand into her hair and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Because you look and feel incredible, and I cannot forget the way you were sucking on my neck last night before you went to bed.”

The memory of his neck straining against her lips sent a shiver of pleasure straight to the apex of her thighs. She forced herself to breathe, then braced her palms on his belly to hold him back. “Okay,” she said tremulously. “That’s fair. But why right now? Why right this second while Varric is waiting downstairs?”

“Because I’m...” He trailed off and clenched his jaw, then exhaled hard. “I’m frustrated by my magic.”

She relaxed, then tapped his abdomen. “ _That’s_ the cure talking. You see that, right?”

He stared at her intently for a few seconds. Then a slow smile lifted his lips. “Wise _and_ beautiful. A murderous combination.” He stepped away from her, then nodded at the bottom drawers of her dresser. “Look in there. The pulsing feeling is back.”

 _It certainly is,_ she thought, with some resentment for the pulse that was beating steadily and distractingly between her legs. “I looked there already,” she told Felassan, but she crouched down and opened the third drawer anyway to rifle around.

Sure enough, the sending crystal was at the back of the drawer partly tangled in a pair of leggings, and it was lit with the faint purple glow that meant Dorian was trying to call her. By the time Tamaris had untangled it from the leggings, the glow had faded away. 

She stood up and sheepishly showed the crystal to Felassan. “Here’s your magical item. You were right — it was lighting up when Dorian called.” She winced. “Which means he’s been trying to call all morning. Fuck. But the good news is that your magic isn’t playing tricks on you, okay?” 

He smiled faintly and bowed his head, and she smiled back at him before turning toward the door to go back downstairs. “Now to wait until he calls again. Ugh, he’s going to be pissed when I finally answer. Maybe I’ll let Varric pick it up—” 

Felassan took her hand and pulled her to a stop, and she looked up at him. “What?”

He stepped close to her and gently tipped her chin up. “This is _me_ talking now. And what I have to say is this: I’m going to kiss you.”

Her belly did a little leap of pleasure, and she smirked. “Are you, now?”

“I am,” he said cheerfully. “Thoroughly. I might even make your toes curl.”

She _tsk_ ed. “Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I feel it.”

His answering grin was full of humour, but the kiss he placed on her lips was gentle and sweet. Tamaris happily savoured the softness of his lips as they pulled gently at her own, and when he leaned away, he stroked her jawline with his thumb. 

“I really do want you rather fiercely, you know,” he murmured.

“I know,” she breathed. “I…” _I want you, too,_ she thought, but the words stalled at the back of her tongue. She and Felassan both knew that their shared desire was more than just simple lust, and although it was becoming easier every day for her to show him how she felt during their several-times-daily torrid embraces, verbalizing her feelings was another matter entirely.

He studied her in silence for a moment, and her heart flipped at the obvious affection in his eyes. Feeling slightly nervous now, she dropped his gaze.

He chuckled softly, then released her chin. “We are consumed by these flames together, _avise_ ,” he told her. “One step at a time.” Then he padded out of her bedroom.

They returned to the main floor to find Varric sitting at the dining table reading some letters. He lifted an eyebrow as they approached. “Did you find it?” he asked.

His tone was slightly pointed, and Tamaris pretended valiantly that her ears weren’t burning as she sat across from him. “Yeah,” she said, and she held the crystal out to him. “Here.”

Varric didn’t take it. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“You can answer when he calls,” Tamaris said.

“Ha, nice try,” Varric said dryly. “You’ve killed dragons, Cuddles. You can face Dorian’s yelling.”

She grunted. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to.”

Felassan chuckled as he sat beside her. Then, as if on cue, the crystal lit up once more and began to vibrate faintly in Tamaris’s palm. 

She shot Varric a resentful look, then rubbed her thumb over the crystal’s face. The crystal’s vibration settled to a gentle hum in her palm, and she grimaced. “Hi, Dorian. How’s–”

“Oh no you don’t,” Dorian said sharply. “I’ll speak, and you’ll listen. I’ve given you your space and left you alone for a few months because I know you had a difficult time with Solas being an elven god and losing your lovely arm, and yes, it was a very lovely arm–”

Tamaris awkwardly tugged her ear. “Dorian—” 

“I’m not finished,” he snapped. “I gave you space. We all gave you space while you were off gallivanting with the Chargers, but then you went prancing off to Kirkwall and now you’ll only talk to Varric–”

“Hey, Sparkler,” Varric said without looking up from his letters.

“Oh, hello Varric,” Dorian’s voice said. “As I was saying, Tamaris, you only speak to Varric, and that’s – I’ve had enough. We’re going to talk now because I have news, and I’m quite fed up with having to condense the fascinating events of my life into coded letters for Varric and Leliana. And we’re going to start right now with you telling me what you’ve been doing in that grand mansion all on your own for weeks on end.”

“Well, for starters, I haven’t been on my own,” she retorted.

Felassan smiled lazily. “Oh, don’t cut him off. That diatribe was fairly entertaining.”

There was a brief pause from Dorian’s end. Then: “Who is _that_?” Dorian exploded. “That accent, it isn’t — that’s not _Solas_ –?”

Felassan laughed. “I am certainly not Solas,” he said. “My name is Felassan. I was once an agent of Fen’Harel. Now I follow Tamaris around the house telling stories and making clever remarks.”

Tamaris snorted in amusement. “That’s actually pretty accurate.”

“Hang on,” Dorian said. “Do my ears deceive me? Did you just laugh? Varric, did she just laugh?”

“Yep,” Varric said. “She’s even smiling.”

Tamaris forced herself to stop smiling. “I am not,” she protested.

“You were,” Felassan said. “I witnessed it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, all of you.”

Varric and Felassan chuckled, and Dorian spoke again in a bossy tone. “Someone needs to explain to me right now how there is a former agent of Fen’Harel in Tamaris’s house.”

Tamaris quickly explained to Dorian about Felassan’s Tranquility cure and how Cassandra had sent him here with Evangeline and Rhys. When the tale was told, Dorian tutted. “This is what happens when you don’t answer my calls,” he said plaintively. “I miss such interesting events. Varric, I demand that you describe Tamaris’s mystery guest to me so I can paint a mental picture.”

“Uh…” Varric gave Felassan a critical look. “Tall, dark-haired and handsome?”

Dorian tutted. “You’re meant to be describing Tamaris’s guest, not me.”

“I _am_ tall and dark-haired, it’s true,” Felassan said. “As for handsome… What do you think, Tamaris?”

His smile was sly and undeniably handsome. _Smug ass,_ she thought in amusement, and she shrugged. “You’re okay-looking, I suppose.”

His eyes widened mockingly. “‘Okay-looking’? Your words cut my pride to ribbons.”

Dorian scoffed. “That can only possibly mean that he’s gorgeous. Varric, what is going on in that house?”

Tamaris rubbed her face in exasperation while Felassan snickered, and Varric raised his eyebrows. “Why are you asking _me?_ ” he said.

“Because Tamaris never gives any interesting details,” Dorian said.

She rolled her eyes, but Felassan leaned toward the crystal. “I have a question for you, in fact,” he said to Dorian. “This sending crystal. You have a matching one that resonates at the same magical frequency?”

“Yes, exactly,” Dorian said. “How…? Oh, of course, you were a mage. I’m sorry, _are_ a mage.”

“So to speak,” Felassan said. “I can see the elvhen foundations underlying your work.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. He sounded slightly resigned. “You really did work with Solas, I see.”

Felassan smirked. “We ancient elves did enjoy getting our fingers in everything. You constructed these crystals yourself?”

“I did, yes,” Dorian said. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

“I’ll admit that I’m impressed,” Felassan replied. “They’re like a precursor to eluvians. How did you figure out how to do this?”

“It’s funny you should ask,” Dorian said eagerly. “In fact—”

“Here we go,” Varric said very quietly, and he shot Tamaris a resigned little smile. “Better settle in, Cuddles.”

Dorian either ignored him or didn’t hear him, but either way, he kept on talking to Felassan. “For many years, I was working on some rather complex research involving time travel with an old mentor of mine. I adapted some of the formulae so these crystals could allow messages to travel across vast distances without the corresponding temporal span.”

“Ah yes,” Felassan said. “I read about that in Varric’s book. Time travel formulae modified to allow instantaneous communication…” He nodded slowly. “I can see how you got there. Clever.”

“I’m glad you can appreciate the intricacies of it,” Dorian said. “Tamaris, you can keep this fellow. I approve.”

Felassan smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes again. “Is there an actual reason you called me, Dorian?” she drawled. “I thought you said you had news.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I do indeed have news. Now, you should all settle in, because this is a good story. I take that back, it’s a disgusting story. And I wasn’t even in the thick of the action.”

“ _You_ got involved in something disgusting?” Tamaris said in surprise. “ _You?_ ”

“I know,” he said sagely. “It’s shocking, really. But sit back and relax while I tell you of my exciting life.”

“I do enjoy a good exciting tale,” Felassan said. He lifted his feet onto the table and folded his arms behind his head.

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “Get your fucking feet off the table. Varric’s reading.”

“No he isn’t,” Felassan said. “He’s listening to Dorian’s exciting tale.”

She smacked his leg. He playfully tugged a lock of her hair, and she swatted his hand away. Then Dorian’s peevish voice called through the crystal. “Are you settled? I can’t tell from listening if you’re cozy.”

“Oh, we’re cozy all right,” Varric said drolly.

Tamaris glanced at him; his eyes were on his letters, but he was smiling faintly.

Feeling embarrassed but also oddly pleased, she awkwardly rubbed her nose, and Felassan chuckled. “Go on, then,” he said to Dorian. “Tell us your disgusting story. There’s nothing quite like the vicarious pleasure of relishing in another’s grisly feats.”

“Oh, it will be plenty disgusting and grisly,” Dorian said. His voice was vibrant with humour, and Tamaris could easily imagine him settling elegantly into an elaborate armchair. “This, my friends, is the tale of how some excellent colleagues and I defeated a rather nightmarish creature called the Cekorax.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: do you guys want NSFW warnings at the start of the NSFW chapters from now on? I don't really want to ruin the surprise when sexy times happen again, but I know it also helps people to plan their time if they know in advance about the spicy chapters. I will follow popular opinion on this matter.
> 
> Storytime with Dorian either tomorrow or Sunday!
> 
> Feel free to pop by [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you like! xo


	14. Imshael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends! This chapter discusses a lot of canon lore drawing from _The Masked Empire_ , _Tevinter Nights_ , and a couple of minor sidequests from Inquisition that some people may have forgotten. I know not everyone has read _The Masked Empire_ or _Tevinter Nights_ , and I have done everything in my power to keep this followable for those of you who haven’t. 
> 
> As some of you might know from the end of the previous chapter, one particular story from _Tevinter Nights_ will be the focus here: the one that’s narrated by a character named Hollix. For those who haven’t read _Tevinter Nights_ , Hollix is a master of disguises whose gender identity is non-binary or fluid, but in this fic, I have Dorian calling Hollix ‘she/her’ because that’s what Dorian calls Hollix in the _Tevinter Nights_ story — he gets the impression that Hollix is a ‘she/her’ based on Hollix’s disguises, an impression that Hollix doesn’t correct because they easily and cheerfully slip into either gender identity/role as part of their position as a Lord of Fortune.

“Listen closely now,” Dorian said jauntily. “My story begins with a series of unsolved and rather gruesome murders that had been going on in Minrathous for some time. Rumours had started to circulate that the perpetrator was a creature that came to be called the Cekorax.”

“Cekorax?” Varric asked. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a butchering of the old Tevene word for ‘headsman’,” Dorian said. “The creature earned this charming name because its victims were all found without their heads.”

Tamaris grimaced, and Felassan laughed. “This story is exciting already.”

“Not quite so exciting for those who lost their heads, but I digress,” Dorian said delicately. “No one was doing anything about it, unfortunately, especially since the beast hadn’t attacked any of the altus class yet. So I put out a bounty for the perpetrator’s head, and the person who came to my aid was a wily little thing whom I’ll affectionately call Hollix.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “That _you’ll_ call Hollix? What was their actual name?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he said cheerfully. “I called her Hollix on a whim. She decided to keep the name while she was in Minrathous, and who am I to argue with the adoption of a silly nickname?”

“Fair enough,” Varric said.

“Of course _you’d_ agree,” Dorian said drolly. “In any case, Hollix did some unsavoury investigating for me — for a fair price, of course — and discovered that the creature doing all the killing was…” He sighed. “Frankly, it was a creature of unearthly and uncanny horror. And you know I don’t say this lightly, considering all that we’ve seen together.”

“No kidding,” Tamaris said flatly.

Felassan sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. “What did it look like? This uncanny creature of horror?”

“I can only tell you so much firsthand, as I was high above the action when the creature presented itself,” Dorian said. “But Hollix described it more fully. It was…” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “It was an enormous fleshy mass as large as a house that was able to peel parts of itself away to produce… tentacles. Unbelievably long tentacles bearing human eyes that it had stolen from its victims’ heads.”

Tamaris exchanged a horrified look with Varric. “So it just took the victims’ eyes?” she asked Dorian. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Dorian said. He sounded very serious now. “In the deepest part of this fleshy mass, it was harbouring the heads of all of its victims. Over two dozen heads, Hollix said — all perfectly preserved as though they were still alive. And the monster was… animating the heads. Speaking through their mouths.”

A cold ripple of revulsion ran down the back of Tamaris’s neck. “Oh fuck,” she breathed.

“Shit,” Varric muttered.

Felassan narrowed his eyes. “It was speaking through the heads? Using their mouths to express its own thoughts?”

“Apparently,” Dorian said. “Hollix said it was trying to lure her into joining it. To ‘keep her safe’, it said.”

Felassan leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “So it seemed to have motivations of its own. That’s fascinating.”

Tamaris tilted her head. “Do you know something about this?” 

He grinned. “Are you asking if I’m responsible? That hurts. I’m clever, but I’m hardly diabolical.”

She _tsk_ ed. “Of course I don’t think you’re responsible. But is it an ancient monster or something like that?”

His smile faded slightly. “I… honestly can’t say.” To Dorian he said, “How did you defeat this creature in the end?”

“An ingenious plan that I regret to admit was not mine,” Dorian said. “The creature had entwined itself in one of the city’s finest public gardens, which happens to be just below my apartment. Hollix cleared the gardens and exploded the fountain with gaatlok so the creature was drenched, and Maevaris and I electrocuted it from the upper balcony of my apartment.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “So wait, you weren’t even in the garden during all this? I thought you said you were involved in the disgustingness.”

“I _was_ involved,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I was _in_ it. Can you imagine?”

Tamaris snorted in amusement. “You’re such a spoiled noble.”

“I do miss your loving insults,” he said. “In actual fact, though, Mae and I had to keep distant so the monster wouldn’t suspect anyone else but Hollix was involved. I do feel sorry for Hollix though, poor thing. The creature popped like an enormous filthy balloon when we zapped it, and she got rather, er, moist in the process. When all was said and done, only the creature’s skin was left behind.”

Varric grimaced. “Like a sausage casing?”

“Ugh,” Dorian said. “That’s what Hollix said. Believe me, you wouldn’t be thinking about food if you’d seen what I had.”

Tamaris looked at Felassan. “So? Does it sound familiar to you?”

He twisted his lips. “Yes and no, actually. It almost sounds like one of Ghilan’nain’s delights, but not completely.”

Tamaris blinked in surprise. What did Ghilan’nain have to do with a horrific murderous monster in Minrathous?

“Ghilan’nain?” Dorian said. “Isn’t that one of the Dalish gods? Er, so to speak.”

“Yes indeed,” Felassan said. He raised his eyebrows at Tamaris. “Would you care to start us off?”

She groaned. “Do I have to?”

He chuckled. “No, you don’t. But it would be informative for everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. Then she addressed Varric and Dorian’s crystal. “The Dalish say that Ghilan’nain was the mother of halla, and the goddess of navigation and wayfaring. She was actually a mortal who was raised to the status of a goddess thanks to Andruil, who’s the goddess of hunting.” Then she frowned at Felassan. “But in the Temple of Mythal, we found an old inscription that Solas translated. It said that Ghilan’nain created all kinds of creatures, but the creatures ran rampant through the elves’ lands until the Evanuris offered her godhood in exchange for destroying them.” 

Felassan grinned. “Fen’Harel translated that for you?”

“Yes, he did.”

Felassan chuckled. “I can just imagine him screaming on the inside while he read that to you.”

She offered him a slightly bitter smirk, and he folded his arms. “Well, that inscription had the right of it. Like all the Evanuris, Ghilan’nain was a powerful mage, and her favourite hobby was creating new forms of life.” He held up a finger. “Wait, I should be specific: she created new forms of life from ones that already existed, blending and forming them into new creatures that were increasingly spectacular and powerful.”

Tamaris _harrumph_ ed. “Until the Evanuris got sick of her shit, it seems.”

Felassan smiled at her. “Blunt as always, _avise_ , but yes. This was before my time, but my understanding is that Andruil became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, who created increasingly insane creatures for Andruil to hunt. Andruil praised her efforts, which spurred Ghilan’nain’s experiments on.” He smirked. “They encouraged each other’s insanity, just as any good couple should.”

Dorian chuckled, and Varric ruefully shook his head. “Very romantic, Jester.”

“I am, aren’t I?” he said. “In any case, Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s… activities eventually drew concern from the other Evanuris, who offered to raise Ghilan’nain to the status of a goddess if she destroyed her more disturbing creatures. By that time, she had already gained a measure of infamy among the people, so it took little propaganda for them to believe she was a goddess like the others.”

“Let me guess,” Dorian said. “Her experimenting didn’t stop just because she became a goddess.”

Felassan widened his eyes in mocking surprise. “How did you know?”

Tamaris folded her arms. “But you don’t really think that this Cekorax could actually be one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures. That would mean it was thousands of years old.”

Varric shrugged. “It’s not impossible, Cuddles. Think about some of the old shit we’ve encountered. Corypheus, the Titan…”

“A certain person in this room,” Felassan said blandly.

Tamaris snorted a laugh, and he winked at her. Then Dorian spoke through the crystal. “Whether this creature is new or old, what was it doing roaming around beneath Minrathous?”

“That is an excellent question,” Felassan said thoughtfully.

“Can you answer it?” Tamaris asked.

He shrugged. “I can try.” To Tamaris and Varric he said, “Recall that I told you about Mythal’s Sentinels, and how the other Evanuris sought warriors who were equally dedicated and fierce?”

“Yeah,” Varric said.

Felassan nodded. “Ghilan’nain’s efforts involved attempts to make hybrid… species that would be good fighters and soldiers. And her experiments didn’t just use non-sentient animals anymore.”

A cold stone of horror dropped into Tamaris’s gut. “She started experimenting on slaves?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. His manner was completely serious now, without a hint of levity. “From what we gathered at the time, she wanted her… creations to have some level of sentience, but not so much that they would try to rebel. Which is why I wonder if this Cekorax wasn’t just a simple monster, but a monster possessed by a spirit, since it sounds like it had more… motivation than Ghilan’nain’s surviving creatures had.”

Varric sighed and rubbed his chin. “A possessed monster? As if a regular monster wasn’t bad enough.”

Felassan didn’t reply, and Tamaris looked at him; he had an oddly absent-looking half-smile on his face.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He met her eye, then let out a little laugh and shook his head. “Oh, nothing. Just an idle thought, really.”

She narrowed her eyes, but Dorian spoke before she could press Felassan further. “This still doesn't explain why one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures might be roaming around beneath Minrathous _now_.”

Felassan sobered once more. “Ghilan’nain had multiple hidden… laboratories, for lack of a better word, where she was creating her so-called soldiers. I don’t know where they were located as her activities weren’t my particular area of focus, but if one of Ghilan’nain’s laboratories was recently… activated, or disturbed, then it’s possible that this Cekorax broke free.”

Dorian sighed. “The murders started shortly after some surviving Venatori opened an underground cavern of some kind.” 

Felassan grimaced. “That could explain it. You should probably look into where that cavern was, in case you start getting more lovely visitors from the deepest pits of Ghilan’nain’s twisted imagination.”

Dorian _tsk_ ed. “ _Fasta vass._ Of course. We’ll look into that.”

“Felassan,” Tamaris said. 

“Yes, _avise?_ ” he said pleasantly.

She frowned slightly. “You mentioned that you thought the Cekorax was possessed by a powerful spirit.”

“I did, yes.”

“Do you know the spirit that might have been possessing it?”

A slow smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Why do you say that?”

“Why are you dodging?” she said quietly. 

His smile faded. “Force of habit,” he said ruefully. “I apologize. I did wonder if the spirit might be one that I was acquainted with in the past.” He smirked and rubbed his chin. “Possessing a many-headed and many-eyed monster that can shape itself at will would be in keeping with this particular spirit.”

“What spirit?” Tamaris asked.

“It called itself the Formless One,” he said. “As you can probably guess, it didn’t have any particular shape that it preferred, nor a name to go by.”

“A name?” Dorian said in surprise. “Spirits have names?”

“If they want one, certainly,” Felassan said. “Though many of them are boring and keep the name of the virtues they embody.” His tone was bland once more, and Tamaris shot him a chiding smirk; he was clearly taking a jab at Solas.

Dorian’s voice was keen with curiosity through the sending crystal. “What are some of the spirit names you’ve known?” 

Felassan casually laced his fingers behind his head. “There was an amusing group of spirits who were banished from Elvhenan long before I was born. Or were supposed to have been, at least,” he added with a smirk. “The Formless One was one of them, though it obviously didn’t have a name. Gaxkang was one, and Imshael was another—” 

Tamaris straightened in surprise, and Varric interrupted. “Imshael?” he said.

Felassan’s eyes widened, and he smiled. “Don’t tell me you met him.”

Varric and Tamaris stared incredulously at him, and Dorian answered. “We didn’t just meet him. We killed him.”

Felassan’s face slackened with surprise. Then he laughed. “You’re kidding. Well, now you have to tell me how that happened.”

They told Felassan how they’d met Ser Michel de Chevin during their travels to Emprise du Lion, and how Michel had asked for their help defeating Imshael at Suledin Keep. When they described how Imshael had been directing and guiding the growth of red lyrium in the Red Templars and peasants in the quarry, Felassan laughed and tugged his ear.

“Well, I suppose I did tell him to have fun,” he said dryly. “Not the sort of fun I would have chosen, but…”

Tamaris recoiled slightly at his flippant reaction. “Were you friends with Imshael?” she asked.

“More like long-time acquaintances who made deals sometimes,” he said. “He was supposed to have been banished from our lands along with the others I mentioned, but he, er, stuck around.”

His tone was curled with mischief. She eyed him shrewdly. “Did Solas know you made deals with a spirit who was supposed to be banished?”

“He knew, but... unofficially,” Felassan said.

“Why unofficially?”

“Because Mythal didn’t know,” Felassan said slyly. “She was one of the Evanuris who banished him, you see.”

He was grinning now. Tamaris frowned more deeply. “How is this funny?”

“It’s not, actually,” he said. “Not at all. Can I ask if Fen’Harel was present when you met Imshael?”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, Chuckles was there.”

“And he didn’t say anything?” Felassan said. “Any… recognition or anything?”

“Not a fucking word,” Tamaris said bitterly.

Felassan let out a snort of laughter. “I bet he was fuming on the inside. If I wasn’t already out of the picture, he probably would have skinned me.” He snorted again and rubbed his mouth, then suddenly burst into laughter.

Tamaris’s heart clenched; the quality of his laughter was wild and uncontrolled. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Just breathe.”

Another blast of laughter left his lungs. Tamaris stroked his arm with her metal fingers. “Look at me, brat,” she said softly. 

He wheezed as he met her eye, and Tamaris nodded encouragingly. A few breaths later, he was calm again.

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Why did you say Solas would skin you?” she asked.

“Because it’s my fault Imshael was free to run a red lyrium farm in Emprise du Lion,” Felassan said. “And whatever shortcomings the Dread Wolf has, he does _not_ like red lyrium.”

“No one in their right mind does,” Varric said flatly.

Tamaris frowned. “What do you mean, it was your fault Imshael was free?”

He looked at her, and her belly jolted; for a split second, an odd flash of wistfulness had crossed his face before his usual pleasant half-smile returned. “Imshael had been summoned and bound by a Dalish clan,” he said. “My… lack of involvement, shall we say, led to him being set free.”

Her gut twisted with apprehension. A Dalish clan?

Dorian’s words echoed her thoughts. “You were with a Dalish clan?” he asked.

“For a very brief time, when I was travelling with Briala and the others,” Felassan said. His tone was light and pleasant, but he was still gazing steadily at Tamaris, and there was something about the neutrality of his expression that she didn’t like. 

Then Dorian spoke in a peevish tone. “I beg your pardon, but what in Andraste’s sacred underthings are you talking about? I’m feeling terribly left out.”

Felassan finally looked away from her to face the crystal. “I travelled for a time with Celene, Briala, and the illustrious Michel prior to the Orlesian civil war breaking out in earnest,” he said. “At one point during our travels, we were hosted by a Dalish clan.”

“Hosted?” Dorian said. “The Dalish hosted Celene and Michel?”

Varric spoke up. “I didn’t think Dalish hospitality extended to humans. No offense, Cuddles.”

She didn’t reply; she was too focused on Felassan, who was now wearing a little smile that somehow made his face look empty.

Felassan shrugged. “Well, they tied Michel up and beat him, and they kept Celene under guard. Does that count as hospitality?” 

Tamaris’s gut twisted. Something awful had just occurred to her. “Felassan, what happened to the Dalish clan after Imshael was freed?” she said quietly. 

His eyes returned to her face. “Imshael killed them all.”

A jolt of shock stabbed her in the gut. She stared at him for a second before finding her tongue. “Imshael killed them?” she said weakly. “The… the whole clan?”

“All but one, yes,” Felassan said. He was still wearing that empty little smile, and he sounded so casual, and it… it didn’t add up. 

“Wait,” she said. “He…” She trailed off; her heart was thrumming now, and it was making it hard for her to breathe. She forced herself to inhale. “Imshael went after the clan because _you_ let him go free?”

“Yes,” Felassan said.

She dragged in another breath. “Did you know that Imshael would attack the clan?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said. 

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked so serious now — no, not just serious. He looked…

Her heart twisted. He looked wolfish, somehow. Dangerous. This wasn’t the Felassan she knew. 

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “So you… you purposely let a demon go free, knowing it would kill an entire Dalish clan.”

“Yes, Tamaris,” he said. “I did.”

She stared at him in shock. His face was so forbidding and his voice was uncharacteristically hard, and … and he’d purposely given a demon free reign to kill a Dalish clan. 

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known about this. He hadn’t told her about this, for obvious reasons — he’d gotten a Dalish clan killed, for fuck’s sake, so of course he hadn’t told her. But if he hadn’t told her this, what else was he hiding from her? What other ugly secrets was he keeping? 

Nauseous with horror, she gazed into his violet eyes — his beautiful violet eyes that were usually full of warmth and humour, and that she’d been growing to trust more and more with every passing day. 

Beautiful violet eyes that were probably hiding all kinds of deeds that Tamaris knew nothing about. 

She rose from her chair, and his hard expression cracked. “Tamaris,” he said.

She shook her head and took a step back from the table. Felassan stood up and reached for her hand. “Tamaris, don’t—”

She whipped her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

She went straight to her room and shoved open the window, then climbed up to the roof and started pacing. Her heart was pounding in her chest and behind her eyes, and her fingers shook as she dragged them through her hair.

Felassan had gotten a Dalish clan killed. He had purposely let a demon run rampant and kill an entire clan, and he hadn’t told her. They’d been living here for weeks and he hadn’t… she had no idea.

She was so stupid. She was so fucking stupid to have thought she could trust him. He was thousands of years old and she’d only known him for three weeks, and — she knew basically nothing about him. How could she have thought she could trust him at all? 

_It’s Solas all over again,_ she thought. Once again, she’d been lulled into a false sense of safety with a compelling older man, and once again, he’d betrayed her trust. 

Her ribs felt like they were swelling with misery. She sat down abruptly and leaned back against the chimney, and for some uncounted time she just sat there ruminating on her own idiocy. 

Eventually, she heard the distinctive soft shuffle of bare feet joining her on the roof. She clenched her jaw and looked away, but Felassan sat beside her anyway.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

His voice was back to its usual warmth, but this only made her feel worse. She shot him a venomous look. “Don’t act like you know everything about me. You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks.”

He elegantly lifted an eyebrow. “Can I speak without you biting my head off?”

“Why should I let you?” she snapped. “So you can talk circles around me?”

His eyes narrowed. “I have never done that to you and you know it.”

A pang of remorse penetrated her anger, and it was enough to make her relent. She shrugged and looked away from him. “Fine. Talk.”

“As I said, I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re thinking that I’ve withheld this terrible tale from you, and that if I was hiding this, there must be an entire thaig’s worth of villainous secrets that I’m keeping from you. I am extremely old, after all. There must be hundreds of skeletons in my proverbial closet that you don’t know about, so how can you possibly trust me?”

His tone was annoyingly playful, but what really rankled her that he was right. “Look at you, using your spy skills to figure me out,” she said snidely. 

“I am only using the information that you told me yourself,” he said. “I know you’re on alert for reasons to cast me aside. I am not going to give you any.”

A sudden throb of pain in her chest took her by surprise. She swallowed hard and lifted her burning eyes to the sky as Felassan continued to speak. “I was not purposely hiding this from you. If the topic had come up before, I would have told you.” He lowered his voice. “And I think you know that.”

Fuck, her lips were trembling. She looked away from him and didn’t speak, and Felassan was silent as well. 

When Tamaris was able to control her face once more, she shot him a hard look. “Tell me why you let that clan get killed.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “The practical reason is that Imshael had something I needed: a keystone to unlock the eluvians. Setting him free gave us access to the keystone, which ultimately ended up in Briala’s possession.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said coldly.

“I do know what you mean,” he said calmly. “The real truth is this: I could have gotten that keystone in other ways. I knew Imshael, and I knew how his mind worked. But I wanted that clan to suffer.”

“Why?” she demanded. “What the fuck did they ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “They did nothing to me, and there was nothing they could have done to harm me.” He paused and clenched his jaw, and her gut twisted; his expression was hardening again in a way that she didn’t like. 

“It was the way they treated Briala,” he said. “Briala had been supplying information to that clan for years through me. She’d pinned her hopes and dreams on them, and do you know what they said to her when they finally met her?”

“What?” Tamaris said faintly.

“They called her a flat-ear and said that she was not their people,” Felassan said.

For a moment, Tamaris stopped breathing. That was what Abelas had said to her at the Temple of Mythal, and she still remembered the way his disdain seemed to stab her straight in the heart.

Felassan went on. “Their Keeper, Thelhen…” He curled his lip in disgust. “It wasn’t that he was blind to the plight of the alienages. He knew what they suffered, and he didn’t care. He was no better than the human nobles that beat and killed city elves for looking at them the wrong way. He knew the problems that city elves faced, and he chose to do nothing, claiming that they were _not his people_.”

His voice was growing angrier by the second, and Tamaris held up a hand in surrender. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, I… I hear what you’re saying.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, then leaned his head back against the chimney, and for a moment they were both silent. 

For once, Tamaris broke the silence. “Was that the only clan you ever had dealings with?” 

“No,” he said. “But I had dealings with Clan Virnehn for as many years as I have known Briala. No matter how many times I told them that a city elf was the one to thank for their knowledge of Orlais and how to avoid the shemlen troubles that plagued the country, they still refused to accept her as their own.”

“I hear you,” she said gently. “Honestly, I do. And that’s… it’s fucking awful, and I’m sorry Briala had such a shitty experience with the first Dalish clan she finally had a chance to meet. But do you really think that’s enough reason to let the entire clan get killed?”

He exhaled heavily. “Tamaris…”

She pushed on ruthlessly. “What about the kids in that clan? There had to be kids. Did they deserve to die because their Keeper was a piece of shit?”

“You don’t understand,” he burst out.

“What don’t I understand?” she asked. 

“The…” He dragged his hand over his hair and glared at her. “The frustration of living through the same short-sighted stupidity from thousands of years ago. The fact that our people are still so divisive and _blind_. You can’t understand how frustrating it is to wake up thousands of years later to realize that the worst attitudes of my time were one of the things that survived.”

“You can’t judge all of the Dalish based on that one clan’s attitudes,” she said firmly. “That’s you and Solas’s biggest problem. You’re judging all of us based on just a few.”

He let out a rather tired-sounding laugh. “This kind of sparkling optimism is a strange look on you.” 

She couldn’t tell if he was complimenting her or insulting her, but it didn’t matter right now. She shifted a little closer to him. “My clan isn’t like that, Felassan.”

“You’ve said that before,” he said. “You told me you take in city elves who run away from the alienages.”

“Yes, we do,” she said.

“And the elves who can’t run away?” he said. “Those who are stuck in the alienages with no means of escape? You told me you knew of the massacre of Halamshiral’s alienage. What did you do about it?”

His tone was calm but piercing somehow, like he was trying to dig beneath her skin with his pointed words, and Tamaris forced herself to reply just as calmly. “Me personally?” she said. “Nothing. By the time I heard about it, it had happened six months before and I was travelling to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to spy on the Conclave.”

“And once you became the Inquisitor?” he said. “Once you had power? What did you do then to help your brothers and sisters in the alienages?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I allowed the Empress of Orlais to be murdered in order to make a city elf the real power behind the throne,” she said quietly. “Or have you forgotten that already?”

His eyebrows rose. After a brief pause, he smiled and bowed his head to her. “Fair enough, _avise_.”

She relaxed slightly. “I can’t speak to that clan you ran into,” she said. “And… fine, all right, I’ve known some people from other clans who… who feel like we don’t owe anything to the city elves.” She scowled at him. “But Clan Lavellan is not like that, okay? I’m not bullshitting you. We don’t look down on city elves that way. My clan purposely went into Wycome to protect the city elves, for fuck’s sake.”

He looked at her in surprise. “They did?”

“Yes,” she said. “This was a couple years ago. The Duke of Wycome was involved with some Venatori, and they were trying to frame the elves for red lyrium getting into the water supply. The humans tried to burn the alienage down, and my clan interfered to help the city elves fight back. After the Duke was killed, my clan stayed in Wycome to support the city elves, and my Keeper and a city elf got sworn in on the city council along with some human merchants to run Wycome. A third of the clan is still there.”

He nodded slowly. “And the rest?”

“They didn’t want to stay in the city,” she said. “Most of us prefer the woods. But a number of city elves wanted to leave the city with them, and guess what? My clan adopted them.”

He gazed at her appraisingly and didn’t speak, and she gave him a pointed look. “What, nothing to say? That’s new for you.”

“It is, yes,” he said. “It’s an interesting change. It’s not often I’m struck speechless.”

“You do talk a hell of a lot,” she said.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he retorted.

She scoffed, then realized she wasn’t feeling angry anymore. And then she felt weird about the fact that she wasn’t angry.

He tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t… really know,” she said slowly. She was feeling oddly at a loss, and she couldn’t say why.

He gave her a slow smile. “You’re not used to winning arguments about the virtues of the Dalish, are you?”

She lifted her chin. “So you admit that I’ve won.”

He chuckled and flicked her knee. “Yes, _avise_ , you’ve won. You can gloat if you like.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied him thoughtfully. “You really care, don’t you? About the elves of this time. The city elves especially.”

“Why wouldn’t I care about them?” he said.

She didn’t reply right away, but instead continued to study him. The more she thought about it, the more she understood where his attitude about present-day elves came from. Felassan might wear _vallaslin_ and know things about the elvhen gods, but his origins as Andruil’s slave gave him far more in common with city elves than the Dalish. 

A little pang squeezed her heart. That was why he cared about the city elves and their suffering. He’d essentially been one of them, back in the times of ancient Elvhenan.

He lifted one eyebrow quizzically, so Tamaris replied. “Solas didn’t care about the city elves,” she said. “Not like you do.”

Felassan sighed. “I suspect the issue is more that he _couldn’t_ care. He couldn’t afford to. With all that guilt hanging over his head? He couldn’t afford to carry any more by caring about anyone else that he couldn’t save. It would crush him.” He suddenly grinned at her. “I imagine he must have been furious with himself when he realized he was in love with you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You think that makes it okay that he… how he treated me?”

“No,” Felassan said. “Not by any means. A stronger man would have distanced himself from you.”

She huffed, then shrugged. “He tried to. Sort of.”

Felassan shot her a half-smile. “Meaning what exactly?”

“He warned me more than once that getting involved with him was a bad idea,” she admitted. “I guess I… I should have listened.” She scowled. “But he was saying one thing and acting a different way… fucking Solas.”

Felassan smiled to himself, and Tamaris shot him an exasperated look. “What’s so funny now?”

His smile widened. “If I tell you, you’ll say I’m full of shit.”

“Well, now you _have_ to tell me,” she said.

He huffed a little laugh and shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “Fine. I say a stronger man would have distanced himself from you. But it would require the strength of Titans to resist your brassy charms.”

She stared at him. Then she started laughing. “You are completely full of shit.”

He placed one hand on his chest and bowed his head politely. “Acknowledged and accepted.”

She smiled at him, then chuckled and shook her head before taking a joint out of her breast pocket. She lit the joint and took a drag, then offered it to Felassan.

He accepted it with a nod and lifted it to his lips, and as she often did, Tamaris appreciatively watched his lips as he drew from the joint and released the smoke into the air. 

He took another drag and blew a perfect series of smoke rings before offering back the joint, and she carefully took it from his fingers. “You know,” she said, “for someone that he tried to kill, you sure spend a lot of time trying to make me forgive him.”

“That’s not my intention,” Felassan said. “I told you before: I’m not defending him, only explaining him. Know your enemy, blah blah and so on.” He shrugged casually. “Besides, there is only so far that sheer anger can take you. An adversary as unexpected and subtle as Fen’Harel can be requires an approach that’s equally unexpected and subtle.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What approach is that?”

He gave her a fond look that made her heart flip. “This is one thing I won’t tell you,” he said. “Think about it, _avise_. You’ll figure it out on your own.”

She _harrumph_ ed, but with no real ire. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She took a drag from the joint.

He gently took the joint from her fingers. “I will say this: of everyone who is working against him, you stand in a unique position. You are someone who knows Fen’Harel, loved him, and still wants to defy him. You may be the single most dangerous person to him in all of Thedas.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Is that really what you think?”

“Of course,” he said. “I always tell the truth. To you, at least,” he added with a smirk.

“Then you’re just as dangerous,” she said firmly. “ _You_ know him and loved him, and you’re defying him too. You’re just as dangerous as me.”

He raised his eyebrows, then brought the joint to his lips. “How about that? What a team we make. The woman who dances with fire and the slow arrow.”

Her heart did a little squeeze. He’d called himself a slow arrow, not a broken one. 

She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. Then she reached up and plucked the joint from his lips. “I still think you’re a fucking asshole for letting a demon loose to kill that clan.”

“I know you do,” he said. “And I’m not asking your forgiveness. But I will ask you to recognize that I did not lie about this to you.”

She eyed him appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. “I know. And… I do appreciate that.”

They smoked together quietly for a moment, and the silence between them stretched like warm taffy. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the joint met his lips and moved away to let the smoke bleed from his perfectly sculpted mouth.

She had no reason to trust Felassan. There were thousands of years’ worth of heinous things he could have done and hadn’t told her about. But he had been honest with her about his reasons for doing this one heinous thing. He hadn’t tried to sugarcoat anything, and he hadn’t tried to prevaricate. He’d even followed her to the roof in order to tell her the truth, knowing full well that she wouldn’t like it. 

He offered her the joint once more, and she took it. But instead of bringing it to her lips, she leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. 

He shifted slightly so her head was tucked more snugly against his neck. When he turned his head to speak to her, his words wafted over her forehead in a soft murmur. “You walked away from me.” 

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It gave me an excuse to watch you walking away.”

She snorted a laugh. “You’re such a fucking rogue.”

He chuckled and took the joint from her fingers, and for a time they simply sat pressed together on the roof with her head tucked against his neck. The longer she sat there savouring the steady warmth of Felassan’s neck against her temple, the more she realized how strange it was to feel this relaxed and at ease after a fight. How strange it was to feel so… resolved.

“Any particular thoughts on your mind?” he said.

His voice was low and warm, and it was just as comforting as the warmth of his neck. She shrugged and nibbled the inside of her cheek as she considered her reply. She was having plenty of thoughts, thoughts about Felassan’s mischievous smirk and his righteous anger and how patient he was with her, even though she’d walked away. 

She was having thoughts, all right. But nothing that she was ready to say out loud just yet. 

“Not really,” she said. “I’m just… content.”

“Ah, contentment: my favourite,” he said. “It really is an underrated feeling, you know.”

“You said that before,” she said drolly. But in the privacy of her heart, she knew what she was really feeling.

 _Athdhea’lath_ , she thought: the precursor to love. A feeling which Felassan had openly admitted to having, and which he was so carefully fostering in the closely guarded garden of Tamaris’s heart.

A little jolt of nerves plucked at her gut, but she took it in stride. She drew from the joint once more, then exhaled and closed her eyes. She breathed in the scents of herbal smoke and Felassan’s skin, and she enjoyed the feeling of being… content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a full listing of lore that was mentioned here:  
> \- The Cekorax story is from Tevinter Nights, and was pretty much just retold from Dorian's POV.  
> \- The mention of Ghilan'nain's secret laboratories is inspired by "The Horror of Hormak", also from Tevinter Nights. CHILLS DOWN MY SPINE EVEN MENTIONING THAT STORY.  
> \- Imshael is a demon (sorry, _choice spirit_ ) that you meet and kill at Suledin Keep during the "Call Me Imshael" sidequest. In Masked Empire, Felassan did indeed allow Imshael to go free knowing that Imshael would kill the Dalish clan. That is entirely canon.  
> \- The only survivor of the Dalish clan that Imshael killed is a mage named Mihris, who you actually meet in the Hinterlands the first time that Solas detects an ancient elvhen artifact. If you bring Solas along, he says stuff to her in Elvhen...  
> \- The stuff about Clan Lavellan in Wycome is from a series of quests from the war table. For those who don't know the quests, they can either have a very nice outcome (mentioned here), or the entirety of Clan Lavellan can be killed. 
> 
> Oh, and it sounds like most people either prefer to be surprised with sexy times, or don't feel strongly about it either way. So what I'll do is this: I'll keep it a surprise until Felassan and Tamaris actually fuck again (spoiler alert, THEY WILL EVENTUALLY. LOL), and then I'll start marking the chapters that are shameless smut. 
> 
> Feel free to comment or [hit me up on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you have questions! xoxo


	15. Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: AO3 was a little weird on Sunday when I posted the last chapter, and some lovely people didn’t get the notification. So make sure you didn’t skip the previous chapter by accident (Dorian storytime) before reading this one!

Felassan sighed as he cut a slice of breakfast casserole for Tamaris. “Does it usually rain this much in Kirkwall?”

“You asked me that yesterday,” she reminded him.

He made a little grimace. “I did, didn’t I? _Fenedhis_ , I’m getting boring, talking about the rain.” He placed a steaming piece of casserole on her plate and started cutting one for himself, and she eyed him sympathetically. 

It had been pouring rain for the past three days straight, with little reprieve. Even when the rain lessened to a drizzle rather than a sheeting downpour, it hadn’t been light enough for them to eat their meals on the roof or even smoke a joint, and Felassan seemed to be having a hard time with the weather-imposed indoors time. 

“You’re not boring, you’re bored,” she said. “There’s a big difference.” She took a bite of her breakfast. The casserole he’d made was like a savoury bread pudding, packed with roasted mushrooms and sausage and seasoned with rosemary, and as always with Felassan’s cooking, she savoured the melding of flavours on her tongue before swallowing. 

Felassan chuckled. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not bored. How could I be bored with such charming company?”

She rolled her eyes in amusement. “Okay, not bored, then. You’re having cabin fever. We’ll spend the whole day on the roof as soon as the rain stops.”

“That’s a pleasant thought,” he said. “I wonder if I’m able yet to cast the spell that’ll protect us from sunburn?”

She looked up with interest. “There’s a spell for that?”

“There is, yes,” he said. “It’s a subtle kind of sustained barrier. There’s a similar one for repelling rain, as well.” He sat beside her and picked up his fork. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to cast that spell right now.”

He was smiling, but the way he was talking about the rain was starting to worry her. He had been acting more restless and fidgety as the rainy days went on, but she hadn’t realized that he felt _this_ strongly about being cooped up indoors. 

“Do you want to practice that rain-repelling spell after breakfast instead of sparring with me?” she asked. 

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “And miss the chance to make you sweat? Never.”

She scoffed at his wicked smile. A provocative reply was sitting right at the tip of her tongue, and she debated with herself before finally deciding to say it. 

“There are other ways of making me sweat, you know,” she said.

His face lit up with interest. “I’m very well aware, _avise._ Are you offering to let me exercise some of them?”

She smirked and toyed idly with her fork. “Maybe,” she said. In truth, the past three days had been difficult for Tamaris as well, for different reasons. Felassan’s increasing impatience with the weather was translating into their carnal clinches in a way that she was finding especially arousing. His kisses were more urgent than usual and his fingers more eager as they explored her body through her clothes, and his breathing was more growly and desperate as it ghosted across her ear. It was making it harder for her to resist him, and yesterday she had very nearly begged him to fuck her while they were grinding together on the library floor. 

Yet somehow she’d resisted, keeping the desperate plea to herself instead of letting it loose. And late last night as she lay in bed, after bringing herself to a somewhat unsatisfying climax while thinking about Felassan’s blazing violet eyes, she started to realize why _she_ , at least, was delaying the sex that they both so obviously wanted. 

The reason was this: Tamaris wasn’t good at words the way Felassan was. She was only just getting used to telling him the more sensitive parts of her past, and she still had a particularly hard time telling him how she felt about him, especially as her feelings continued to bloom in his warm and playful presence. He was just… 

There was just something about him that was so special. Tamaris had never had a companion she enjoyed spending this much time around. She liked her friends from the Inquisition, of course, and she had long grown accustomed to spending extended periods of time around each of them, but that didn’t mean she’d always enjoyed all the enforced togetherness. 

In contrast, she had always enjoyed being around Solas – when he wasn’t angry, at least. But to be bluntly honest, being with Solas had never been all that fun. Intellectually stimulating, yes. Physically stimulating, absolutely. But fun? Not particularly, or not often. Not that that was Solas’s fault by any means; Tamaris was hardly a barrel of laughs herself, and her relationship with Solas had always been more about shared understanding than shared laughter. 

But when Tamaris was with Felassan… 

No one made her laugh the way Felassan did. She’d never connected so quickly with anyone the way she had with Felassan. She’d never had anyone else that she so enjoyed just sitting around and _talking_ with – just talking about everything and nothing, teasing each other and making stupid clever remarks. He was smart and sharp and thoughtful and funny, and… He was special. He was special to _her_ — more special than she had the words or the courage to admit. 

So somewhere in her weird and wounded mind, Tamaris was starting to think that if she delayed the sex until the time was a little more… well, _special_ than their usual post-training necking, then maybe he’d understand how she felt about him without her having to find the balls to say it. 

It was a convoluted idea, and she was of half a mind to just tell Felassan that this was why she hadn’t yet asked him to fuck her again. But that would involve telling him in detail how she felt, and she just… her heart still quailed at the thought of putting so much on the line just yet. 

Felassan was still smiling wickedly at her. She smiled back awkwardly and dropped her gaze to her plate. 

He chuckled and picked up his fork. “Well, anytime you want me to make you sweat, all you have to do is say the word.” 

She took another bite of her food and mumbled something indistinct, both grateful for his lack of pressure and annoyed at herself in equal measure. They spent the rest of the meal discussing Varric and Cassandra and the fact that Varric had written a sequel to _Swords and Shields_ just for her, and by the time Tamaris was washing the dishes, Felassan had come to the conclusion that Varric and Cassandra were secretly in love and had simply failed to admit their feelings to each other. 

Tamaris shook her head. “No. It’s not possible.”

“Not possible?” Felassan said. “That’s a strong statement from someone who’s seen the range of bizarre things that you have.”

She snorted a laugh at this. “Okay, maybe not impossible, but really unlikely.”

He leaned against the counter beside her and folded his arms. “Explain.”

She rinsed a plate and propped it in the dish drainer. “Honestly, the main reason is that Varric is…” She paused before she could tell him about Varric and Bianca. For all that Varric was good at coaxing out people’s secrets, he was a very private person himself. It wasn’t Tamaris’s place to tell Felassan about his affair with Bianca. 

“He’s not interested in having a relationship,” she said finally.

“Because of Bianca?” Felassan said.

Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “How — how do you know about her?”

He grinned. “I don’t. Or I didn’t, until you just confirmed it now.”

She gaped at him. “Wha— but where — how did you know to ask about that?”

“The crossbow named Bianca,” Felassan said. “He mentions it in _This Shit Is Weird._ It had to be named after someone important.” He shrugged casually. “People don’t usually name their favoured weapons after random strangers, after all.”

Tamaris stared at him for another second, then closed her mouth and started washing another pan. Felassan titled his head curiously. “What’s the story there, then?” he asked. “Not unrequited love; that fades eventually with nothing to supply it. A wife who passed away, perhaps?”

Tamaris pursed her lips, and Felassan nodded. “Ah. Something that’s still ongoing, then. An affair that never petered out, probably. That would make a great deal of sense.” 

She smacked him with her soapy sponge. “Stop that! Stop being a spy at me!”

He flinched away from her sponge and laughed. “I can’t help it, _avise._ It’s in my nature. But if it makes you feel better, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

She scowled at his shit-eating grin, then went back to scrubbing the pan with more vigour. “Well, don’t go talking to Varric about it. He’ll think I told you.”

“My lips are sealed,” he said. “But really, there is immense potential for a relationship between Varric and Cassandra. She loves romance, he wrote her a romance novel, they exchange letters frequently…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You should invite her to come stay here. We could invite Varric over for dinner, then sit back and watch how things play out. It would be immensely entertaining.”

Tamaris couldn’t help it. She laughed. “You are _not_ going to play matchmaker for Varric and Cassandra.”

“Why not?” he said with a grin. “You don’t think I could?”

She _tsk_ ed. “That’s not the point,” she said. Then she turned to face him and propped one fist on her hip. “Look, what makes you think you’re such an expert on love, anyway?”

“I know a great deal about love,” he said complacently. “I’m a great observer of it, after all.”

She wrinkled her nose and started drying the dishes with a towel. “Are you telling me you’re a secret pervert who watches through people’s windows or something?”

He let out a lovely rolling laugh. “No, _felasil’ain._ I was a spy, remember, and a very good one. And secrets of the heart are the easiest to exploit.”

She went still at this. “What do you mean?”

“Some of the most important information a spy can collect is the bonds between people,” he said. “Who is married or partnered to whom, who is sleeping with whom, how people are related, who has children and who they have children with…” He shrugged and folded his arms once more. “If you know who a person loves, you know their greatest weaknesses.”

She stared at him. A cold sort of ache was stealing through her chest. “Is that really how you feel?”

“It’s not how I feel. It’s the simple truth,” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “Your spymaster must have told you this if she is worth her salt.”

“I mean, I guess she did,” Tamaris said blankly. “But that’s Leliana. She’s… terrifying in a quiet kind of way.”

He widened his eyes. “And I’m not? That hurts.”

She didn’t laugh. She stared at him in bemusement, and he gave her a little half-smile. “Go on, speak your mind. I can take it.”

She shook her head slightly. “I just… How are you not more cynical?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

She put the towel on the counter. “If you spent years and years exploiting people’s relationships as weaknesses, how are you so…” _How are you so open to falling in love with me?_ she wondered, but she couldn’t quite get the words out. 

She didn’t need to, however; Felassan’s expression softened slightly, like he understood what she was trying to say. “Just because a relationship can be exploited doesn’t mean the relationship is unhealthy or tawdry,” he said. “Some of the most easily exploited bonds are the ones that are most true. No one is more easily manipulated than a person who truly loves another.” 

She stared at him, struck dumb by the cold brutality of his words. He gave her a half-smile and took over drying the dishes. “Try not to disdain me too much, _avise_. I’ve done many things in the service of a better world, and I don’t regret them. This is just one of many.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then suddenly hugged him around the waist.

He stiffened with surprise for a second, then carefully draped his arm around her. “What’s this for?” he said softly. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” she mumbled. “That sounds… it sounds fucking awful.”

He squeezed her shoulder soothingly. “You have no need to feel sorry for me. Nothing I did as a spy for Fen’Harel was against my will. Against my better judgment at times, perhaps, but never against my will.” He shrugged. “Some things need to be burned down. Some of the most beautiful flowers are those that grow from the ashes that which has burnt away.”

She pressed her lips together. Her throat was thickening with tears for some reason, and she couldn’t decide whether they were for Felassan or for the world he’d lost, or for the simple fact that she could understand his point, horrible though it was.

She held him tightly for a moment longer, then abruptly released him and started to leave the kitchen. “I’ll be in the library. When you’re—”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop. “Tamaris.”

He was gazing at her very intensely, and she swallowed hard before speaking. “Yeah?”

“There are some things I would never exploit,” he said.

She frowned slightly. “What do you…” She trailed off with a jolt. He meant… did he mean _her?_

Her eyes widened. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he would try to use her feelings against her. “I know that,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t… I know.” 

“Do you?” he said quietly. But she knew what he really meant. Did she _believe_ it? 

“Yes, I… I do,” she said. And to her great surprise, she actually did.

They stared at each other for a moment longer. Then Felassan smiled and released her hand. “I’ll see you in the library when I’m done with these,” he said.

Tamaris nodded, then went to the library and sat on the rug. For a minute she just sat there staring vacantly at the bookshelves, stunned by the fact that she hadn’t even thought of the possibility that Felassan would use her feelings for him as leverage. What did that mean, that she hadn’t thought of it? Did it mean she was being stupid and incautious by having feelings for him? If a master spy told her that love was a weakness, then she should probably listen, shouldn’t she?

Or did her lack of suspicion just mean that she was on her way to being cured of the wound that Solas had dealt her? 

A few minutes later, Felassan padded into the library with a smile. “Ready to fight?” 

She looked up, then nodded and rose to her feet. As always, they started with a little warm-up where both of them practiced casting some barriers, then moved onto Felassan throwing ice at Tamaris’s barriers to practice his attack strength. By the time they were warmed up and ready to really start sparring, Tamaris already had a light sheen of sweat along her hairline and the back of her neck.

She wiped her brow, and Felassan smiled. “I told you I would make you sweat.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I always sweat when we do this. Besides, you’re sweating too.” 

He shot her a roguish grin, then twisted his wrist and produced a small swirling cloud of ice that hovered over his palm. “Ready?” 

She nodded and pulled a practice dagger — also known as a golden dinner knife — from the back of her belt. “Go,” she said.

He flicked his wrist and threw the ice at her. She rolled toward him to dodge it and narrowly dodged another iceball, then brought the knife toward Felassan’s thigh. 

The knife glanced off of his barrier — a barrier he’d quickly raised a mere second before her strike. By the time she had the knife drawn back once more to strike, he had skipped a couple of meters away from her, and another ball of ice was glittering over his open palm. 

She exhaled sharply and cast a barrier, then rushed him at the same moment that he threw the ice. A second later, she was trying to push the knife toward his neck while his ice-encrusted hand gripped her wrist to hold her back.

She gritted her teeth and tried to withstand the cold, but it was too much; she finally gasped in pain and dropped the knife, and Felassan released his breath in a heavy sigh. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded and idly rubbed her chilled wrist, then shot him a wry smile. “If I’d come at you with my left hand, you’d be a dead man.”

“Are you holding back on me, then?” he asked. “Come at me with that lovely metal hand. Don’t be shy.”

She shrugged and picked up the knife in her left hand. “Fine. Just remember you asked for it.” She twirled the knife over her metal fingers, then rushed him suddenly. 

Felassan lashed out with a sustained blast of ice, but Tamaris repelled it with her barrier and brought the knife toward his belly in a swift strike, and they both froze; her knife was pressed against his abs, but his frozen hand was wrapped around her throat.

She stopped breathing. Her eyes darted up to his face, and his frozen hand instantly warmed back to a normal temperature. But he didn’t let her go, and she didn’t step away.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

He sounded slightly breathless, and his chest was rising and falling heavily. She swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you if you hurt me,” she panted. “Otherwise, you can assume I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said. His thumb drifted slowly along the edge of her jaw.

A ripple of heat bloomed low in her belly, and she gasped. Then she stepped away from him. “Ready?” she breathed.

He smiled at her — a slow and rather predatory smile. “Always.”

She grinned at him, and they continued to spar for a while longer. They were quite well-matched, considering that they were both training outside of their comfort zones: Felassan would usually have shirked close-quarters combat, and Tamaris would usually have stuck to stealth tactics that would prevent her from being a target of magical attacks. As a consequence, their sparring sessions were both challenging and satisfying. Aside from the obvious benefit of getting Felassan to practice his magical control while Tamaris boosted her barriers, they were both practicing forms of combat that neither of them was particularly well-versed in, and Tamaris was certain that the practice would do them good in the future. 

Twenty minutes later, both of them were sweating and panting for breath, and Tamaris had bested Felassan just over half of the time. They took a brief break to drink some water, and Tamaris admired the sheen of sweat on Felassan’s collarbones and the notch at the base of his throat while he gulped down a goblet of water.

He lowered the goblet and looked at her, and a knowing smile turned up the corners of his lips. Before he could call her out for staring, she hastily spoke. “I think you should start practicing other kinds of attacks soon,” she said. “Fire or lightning.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“You have to do it eventually,” she reasoned. “If anything goes up in flames, you can just put it out with ice.”

His eyebrows creased. “I’m more concerned about injuring you inadvertently.”

She shrugged. “I can heal minor wounds, no problem. Besides, don’t you have that extra-potent royal elfroot salve for heavy-duty wounds and burns?”

He huffed in amusement. “I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to use it on you.”

She titled her head playfully. “You’re insulting me by assuming you’ll actually land a hit.”

He grinned at her, then shrugged and put the goblet down. “We can’t have that. Fine, you win. I’ll start practicing with the fire and lightning tomorrow. Are you ready to continue with the ice for now?” He pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and Tamaris openly stared at the cut lines of his abs. 

He dropped his shirt back into place, then tilted his head. “Tamaris,” he said drolly.

She snapped her eyes up to his face. “What?” she said defensively.

He sauntered toward her in an annoyingly confident way. “Irritable,” he remarked. “You must be horny.”

“ _You_ are,” she retorted, very cleverly. She pulled the dinner knife from her belt and twirled it over the fingers of her real hand. 

He chuckled and reached for her chin. Tamaris knocked his hand away with her prosthetic hand and brought the knife up toward his throat.

To her surprise, he swiftly brought his other hand up and blocked her strike, then grabbed her right wrist and pulled her closer. Caught off-guard and off-balance, she stumbled into his chest.

She braced her metal hand against his abs, and he stroked her chin with his thumb. “I never said I wasn’t,” he murmured. 

She stared up at him, breathless with desire and snared by the brilliant heat in his eyes. He smelled so good, like sleep and soap and the sweet masculine musk of sweat, and his lips were a breath away from hers, and… fuck, he wasn’t wrong. She was terribly horny. 

But they’d only been training for less than an hour. They usually went for at least two hours before taking a break to do… other things. Very reluctantly, she stepped away from him. “Come on, we can go a little longer—”

He pulled her back against his chest and kissed her, and her lips instantly melted open for him with a little whimper of pleasure and surprise. His arm was curled tightly around her waist to hold her close, and Tamaris moaned into his lips as the hard ridge of his erection pressed into her belly through their clothes.

He released her wrist to cradle her neck instead, and Tamaris blissfully melted into him. A few seconds later, however, he froze.

He smiled slowly against her lips. “You fight dirty.”

Sure enough, she had the dinner knife pressed to his belly. “You started it,” she whispered. 

His smile widened, and he loosened his arm around her waist so she could step away. “All right,” he said. “I understand the rules now.”

“Oh really?” she said playfully. “What rules are those?”

“There aren’t any,” he said, and he grabbed for her. 

She dodged away from him and barked out a laugh. “Felassan! We need to train!”

“We are training,” he said, and he conjured another ball of ice. “But you’d better not let me catch you if you want to keep this up.” 

Suddenly, the game was twisted on its head: Felassan was the one in pursuit while Tamaris tried to repel his attacks and keep him at a distance. She managed to keep him back for a good ten minutes, but her lack of stamina for barriers was ultimately her downfall; Felassan hit her shoulder with a small blast of ice, and she stumbled and fell onto her butt with an _oomph_.

An instant later, he was on his knees in front of her and tenderly smoothing his hand along her arm. “ _Fenedhis_. Are you hurt? Is it—?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she panted. “It’s nothing.”

He smoothed his palm over her shoulder and cradled her neck in his palm. “Are you sure?”

“I — yes, I’m sure,” she said breathlessly. He was so close to her now, but everything about him was just making her want him even closer. The warmth of his palm on her sweat-laced neck and the intensity of his violet eyes, and _gods,_ the smell of his skin… 

She licked her lips, and Felassan’s face lifted into a heated smile. “I think this means I won this round,” he said. 

She scoffed. “Uh-huh. Are you going to gloat about it now?” 

“Not at all,” he said. “But now that I struck you down...” He shifted closer on his knees and brushed his thumb along the tendon in her neck. 

A shiver of pleasure ran down the side of her throat. She lifted her chin to grant him easier access to her neck, and he chuckled. “Should I accept this as your willing surrender?” he asked.

“You talk too much,” she complained breathily. Then she gasped as his lips brushed over the side of her neck. 

He kissed her neck _very_ gently, soft open-mouthed kisses with just a hint of tongue, and Tamaris abruptly gave up pretending that she had any lingering interest in sparring. She grabbed his shirt and pulled, wanting him to kiss her neck with more teeth and tongue and _pressure_ , but he continued the torturously gentle tease of his mouth along the side of her throat.

“Felassan,” she whined. 

“Yes, Tamaris?” he murmured. He lapped at her neck with tiny teasing flicks of his tongue, then grazed her neck _very_ gently with his teeth.

She panted and tugged at his shirt. “More,” she said bluntly. 

He chuckled, then slid his hand over her waist and pulled on her hip. “Come here, then.”

She hastily followed the pull of his hand, and a second later she was straddling him. She tilted her hips down to try and meet the hardness between his legs while also craning her neck to the side so he would kiss her neck some more, and Felassan obliged her with a firm open-mouthed kiss against the side of her throat. His hands were roaming firmly over her body, his fingers sliding over her thighs and hips and up inside the back of her shirt to clench against her shoulder blades, and Tamaris twisted her fingers in his shirt and stroked his neck as he lavished her neck with kisses.

He nipped her neck, then started sucking on her sweat-laced skin, and she burst out a little cry at the pressure of his mouth. “Yes,” she gasped, and she twisted her hips down to rub more firmly against his groin.

He lifted his face with a gasp, then groaned and bucked his hips to meet her, and then they were moving together in an uncoordinated and torturous bump-and-grind as they tried to find some satisfaction through their clothes. 

Felassan’s arm was like a steel band around her waist, and his breath was hot against her sternum. He braced himself with one hand on the floor to try and lift himself more firmly against her, but a second later he burst out a frustrated groan. 

“ _Ar isala mithelma,_ ” he moaned. He licked her collarbone, and Tamaris gasped and clenched her fingers against his neck; he was pulling at the neckline of her shirt and licking the skin below her collarbone now, and his mouth was close enough to the upper swell of her breast that it was forcing a dizzying surge of anticipation to pool between her legs.

He moaned again and lowered his face to nuzzle her breast through her shirt, and Tamaris made a snap decision: she abruptly shifted away from him.

He looked up at her in surprise. “What’s wr–?” Then he broke off with a gasp: Tamaris was straddling one of his legs now instead of his lap, and she was pulling eagerly at the button fly of his loose breeches. 

His eyes flicked feverishly from her face to her hands and back, and another dizzying pulse of want bloomed low in her belly; his eyes were glowing faintly with magic now. He squeezed her arm. “Tamaris,” he panted. “Are you–”

“No, no,” she said hastily as she pulled on his fly. “I don’t – I’m not going to fuck you. I just want to…” She trailed off distractedly and stared at his cock; it was a hard rise thrusting eagerly up from the opening in his breeches, and there was a bead of moisture at the tip.

She smoothed her thumb over the head of his cock and sucked his primal flavour off of her thumb, and Felassan eagerly bucked his hips. “You are going to be the end of me,” he groaned.

She smiled at him, but she couldn't think of a clever reply; she was too distracted by how beautiful he was, and it wasn't just his good looks that she was admiring. It was how obviously desperate he was. His face was twisted with desire, his eyes glowing and his ears flushed pink and his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. He was so desperate, desperate for _her_ despite her twisted wounds, and these three days of rain-imposed confinement had been so hard on him, and she just… he was so fucking special, and Tamaris wanted to make him feel good.

She wrapped her fist around his cock and squeezed, and Felassan made the most wonderful guttural sound of pleasure. Encouraged by his enjoyment, she stroked his cock for a moment, then quickly spat into her palm and continued stroking him more smoothly.

He moaned and twined his fingers in the hair at her nape, then pulled her close for a kiss, and Tamaris eagerly accepted the twisting warmth of his tongue as she stroked his cock. In a matter of short minutes, he was shifting restlessly beneath her and the thick length of his shaft was growing even stiffer beneath her palm, and when he broke their kiss to breathe erratically against her lips, she knew he was close. 

“Do you want to come in my mouth?” she asked.

To her mild surprise, he shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “No, kiss me. Tamaris, kiss me, _ah_ –”

She kissed him hard. An instant later, he was clasping her neck and her hair in both hands and moaning uninhibitedly into her mouth as his seed spurted hotly over her hand. 

She delved her tongue into his mouth and squeezed his pulsing cock. He shuddered beneath her and dragged both of his hands through her hair, and the firm feel of his fingers on her scalp sent an icy-hot wave of pleasure from the crown of her head down the back of her neck. 

They kissed hungrily until his shuddering grew still. Then Tamaris gently broke their kiss and glanced down at his crotch. 

She winced at the mess; his climax was most evident on his shirt and breeches, but a little bit had spattered the hem of her shirt as well. 

“Fuck. Guess we’ll need to do laundry,” she said. She wiped her hand on his shirt and started shifting off of his leg.

He banded his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Laundry?” he said. “You’re thinking about laundry right now?”

His voice was husky with pleasure and even more vibrant with laughter. She smiled and patted his shoulders. “Yep. I’m thinking about laundry,” she teased. “Do you want to help me with it, or–”

He slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt to splay on her belly, and she broke off with a gasp. His fingers were moving steadily up over her ribs, and when his thumb brushed over the cup of her bra, she mewled and dug her fingers into his shoulders. 

He chuckled softly. “What I want, _avise_ , is to reciprocate. If you’ll allow it.”

She curled her hips toward him. “Y-you don’t have to,” she stammered. “That’s not why I…” She trailed off distractedly as his fingers slipped back down over her belly to hook into the drawstring waistband of her pants.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he murmured. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I deeply enjoy watching you squirm.”

She burst out a breathless little laugh. “Smug asshole.”

“I’ll allow your insult since you made me come so well,” he said. He gestured at her pants. “May I?”

She nodded eagerly, and Felassan deftly loosened the drawstring of her pants. “Rise up,” he told her. 

She lifted herself higher on her knees. Felassan angled his wrist and started sliding his hand into her pants, and Tamaris held her breath as his fingers slipped down beneath her navel, then just above her sex, then–

He pressed his middle finger into her slippery cleft, and she twisted her fingers in his shirt and mewled with pleasure. He was caressing the swollen bud of her clit with careful little strokes, and the pressure and rhythm of his finger was so perfect that she didn’t even want to move her hips for fear of spoiling what he was doing so well.

Felassan exhaled shakily and looked up at her, and if possible, her lust throbbed even higher; his eyes were bright with a hot amethyst glow, and he somehow looked just as aroused now as when she was stroking his cock. He slid his fingers a little deeper into her pants and caressed her folds, and when she jerked her hips and moaned, he exhaled hard. 

“You feel incredible,” he rasped. “Like a wet dream come true.”

She laughed shakily at his compliment. “You don’t have dreams, thanks to your fancy tea.”

“And I’m glad for that,” he said with a grin. “This reality is so much better.” He adjusted the angle of his hand to continue stroking her clit, and Tamaris released a breathy moan and clutched his shoulders. He breathed hard as he petted her clit, and Tamaris blissfully tilted her head back so his breath would drift hotly across her neck.

His nose brushed over her exposed sternum, and she eagerly arched her chest toward him. He hummed with pleasure, and without stopping the perfect rhythm of his fingers, he nuzzled her breast and gently bit her nipple through her shirt and bra. 

“Fuck,” she whined, and she cradled his head in her hands. He growled and continued trying to bite her nipple through her clothes, but his attempts were both arousing and frustrating thanks to her fucking clothes, and his finger was so persistent and smooth between her legs and it felt so fucking good, _fuck_ –

She came with a guttural cry and dug her fingers into his neck, and Felassan let out a breathy little laugh. “Good girl,” he crooned.

To her surprise, his words and his smooth voice lifted a sudden jolt of excitement between her legs, kicking her climax even higher. She whimpered wordlessly, unable to reply for the pleasure that was pulsing in her throat. 

When she could open her eyes again, she twisted his ear. “I told you not to call me that,” she scolded. 

He laughed and batted at her hand. “I think you liked it.”

“I did not,” she retorted, but she was smiling like a fucking idiot, and this only made Felassan laugh harder. 

He carefully pulled his hand out of her pants, running his finger firmly along the length of her slippery cleft as he did, and Tamaris gasped as the stroke of his finger lifted a fresh wave of lust through her just-sated body. 

He showed her his lust-slicked fingers. “Whether you liked it or not, this is _very_ good,” he purred. He dipped his middle finger into his mouth and sucked, and Tamaris gaped stupidly at him as he licked her nectar from his fingers. When his fingers were clean, he cupped her neck in his palm and pulled her close for a kiss, and the taste of her arousal on his lips only made her more riled up.

She whimpered and pressed her fingers into his abs, but Felassan peeled away from her lips after just a few blissful seconds. Then he patted her bum casually. “Come on, _avise._ We should get changed. I’ve been told that there’s very important laundry to do.” He slid out from beneath her and stood up, and Tamaris stared at him as he sauntered out of the library. 

She sat there on the floor throbbing with unfulfilled lust for a few seconds, then let out an incredulous little laugh and flopped onto her back. _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought with a mixture of amusement and frustration. He knew exactly what he was doing when he left her in this state, the smug bastard. 

She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling oddly content despite the unfulfilled pulse of want that was still coursing through her body. Then Felassan’s voice rang out from the upper floor. “Tamaris!” 

She instantly sat upright. He didn’t sound upset, but why was he yelling? “What?” she called back. “What’s wrong?” 

“Come up here!” he yelled.

Alarmed now, she rose to her feet and bolted out of the library. She skidded through the main room and ran up the stairs, intent on heading to his room, but as she passed her bedroom door, she stumbled to a stop. 

Felassan was in her room and standing at the window. She stepped into her room and strode toward him. “What?” she said urgently. “What’s going on?”

He beamed at her, and the boyish excitement in his face stole her breath for a moment. “The rain has stopped,” he said. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Actually stopped?” she said. “Not just drizzling?” She sidled up to the window and looked outside; sure enough, it had finally stopped raining, and there was even a feeble beam of sunlight illuminating the quiet alley below. 

“Come to the roof with me,” Felassan said, and he started climbing out of the window. 

“Hang on, but – you didn’t change,” she protested. He was still wearing the same messy clothes from their tryst in the library.

He shot her a cheeky grin. “I doubt anyone will notice. Besides, nobody ever looks up, remember?”

Her heart did a little flip at the reminder of the first day they’d met. She scoffed, but Felassan was already disappearing through the window. 

She shook her head in exasperation, but she couldn’t blame him for wanting to spend some time on the roof after three long days of being stuck indoors. Besides, it would be nice to get some fresh rain-scented air, even if it was still city air. 

With that pleasant thought, Tamaris slid out of the window to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, I DID THE SPARRING-TO-SEX TROPE AGAIN FOR THE 258TH TIME, OKAY?? I HAVE NO SHAME.
> 
> This is the first part of a chapter that got chopped in two. The second part will appear in a couple of days! 
> 
> Elvhen words/phrases, composed from FenxShiral’s resource:  
> \- _Felasil’ain_ : ‘adorable idiot’. This is what Felassan called Tamaris when she asked if he was a peeping tom.  
> \- _Ar isala mithelma_ : ‘I need to be closer to you.’ Felassan said this when they were making out on the floor in the library.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your humble service! xo


	16. Rooftops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BEAUTIFUL gift art fro this chapter is by darling @dreamerlavellan!! xoxoxo

Tamaris climbed up the wall to join Felassan on the roof. He was already crouching at the edge of the roof and looking out toward the west, and she admired the sky as she padded toward him. The sky was a lovely swirl of bruised-looking clouds shot through with glimmering god rays, overlaid on a smoky grey-blue canvas of sky. The rain-slicked rooftops of Hightown were shimmering with the surreal sort of golden light that followed a big thunderstorm, and the entire scene was somehow both energetic and serene.

Heedless of the wet rooftop, Tamaris sat beside Felassan’s crouching form and crossed her legs. He smiled at her, and the look on his face took her breath away. His violet eyes were bright with enthusiasm and humour, with none of his usual cheeky guile. He looked so happy and so… so youthful, somehow, despite the fact that he was unfathomably older than her. 

He sat beside her and draped his arms loosely around his knees. “Back in Elvhenan, there was a beautiful creature that roamed the countryside at the far edges of the empire,” he said. “This creature had the softest fur, as though its pelt was made up of fine velvet thread. Its eyes were large and luminous, and it was well-known among the people that this was one of the most beautiful creatures that existed.” 

She raised her eyebrows at the random topic, but didn’t question it. “What was it called?” she asked. 

“It was called the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ : ‘beautiful monster’.” He shot her a smile. “So named because its claws and teeth were terribly poisonous. As you can likely imagine, Ghilan’nain was a great admirer of the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_. So one day, Andruil hunted far along the borders of Elvhenan and captured one for her lover.” He tilted his head. “Sadly, the creature became… diminished when it was kept in a cage. It paced around nervously making the most pitiful cry, and eventually it began to chew its own beautiful fur. It became patchy and haggard, and Ghilan’nain was disappointed, for this was not the creature she admired.”

“Let me guess,” Tamaris said flatly. “She started experimenting.”

Felassan shot her wry half-smile. “She did, yes. Andruil captured several more of the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ , and Ghilan’nain did her experiments. She used the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ in many of her later creatures, or so I understand. But one product of her experiments was…” He paused and huffed in amusement, but his smile was slightly melancholy now. “It was a beautiful creature with velvet-like fur and luminous eyes, much like the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ ,” he said softly. “But it was much calmer than its predecessor. It did not pace in its cage, and it did not chew its own fur. Ghilan’nain gifted the creature to the Evanuris when they deemed her one of them, and it became a popular pet among the nobility for a very long time.”

“It became a pet?” Tamaris said in surprise. “But I thought you said it had poisonous teeth and claws.”

The _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ did,” he said. “The version that was kept as a pet did not. It made for a tame and perfectly pleasant pet when its claws were removed. Perfectly suited for the gilded cage that kept it.” He shot her a rueful sort of smile, then looked up at the sky once more.

Tamaris frowned thoughtfully at him. Whenever he told stories like this, she got the impression that he was trying to tell her something without being direct about it. It couldn’t just be about Ghilan’nain and Andruil; he’d already told her enough about them for her to know what they were really like. Was he trying to draw an analogy between this _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ and being Tranquil, maybe?

She mulled over his story and watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked relaxed and content as he studied the sky, but there was also a bit more softness to his expression than usual — enough that he looked wistful. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. He’d been so restless with the past few days of rain, and now he looked much happier to be outside. But the part of his story about the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ being trapped in a cage… 

She studied him for a moment longer, then elbowed him gently. “Hey. Let’s go somewhere.”

He looked at her. “Sorry?”

“I said, let’s go somewhere,” she repeated. She waved expansively at the city. “Let’s go for a stroll across the rooftops.”

For a brief second, his whole face lit up. Then his expression became wary. “I thought you deemed it a bad idea.”

“That was weeks ago,” she said. “You’re already way more in control than you were. Besides, if I keep you cooped up here, I’m no better than the fucking Templars.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t think it’s unwise to leave the house when Fen’Harel has spies in this city?”

She twisted her lips ruefully. “I mean, it’s probably not the best idea. But it’s a calculated risk.” She elbowed him again. “It’s up to you. If you want to go for a rooftop adventure, I’m with you.”

He gazed at her without speaking. His expression was still wary, but softened with just a heartbreaking hint of hope.

She swallowed hard, then looked away from him. “So?” she said gruffly. “Do you want to go for a stroll or not?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached out and turned her face toward him with a gentle hand on her chin, and her lips parted in surprise right before he gave her a firm kiss. 

A few seconds later, he leaned away and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’d be honoured to run these rooftops with you,” he said. 

She scoffed despite her pounding heart. “All you had to say was yes.”

He grinned, then released her. “Then my answer is yes. Let’s go for a rooftop stroll.” He stood up and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “What should we bring? Cloaks and daggers, literally?”

She smirked as she followed him back to the window. “Yes, actually. Some coin and some elfroot too, just in case.” She gave him a pointed look. “And change your fucking clothes.”

He shot her a suggestive little smile, and his eyes dropped to the semen-spattered hem of her shirt. “You first,” he said, and he dropped down the wall and back into the window before she could reply. 

_Brat,_ she thought in amusement, and she followed him inside. Ten minutes later, they were on the roof again with a light dagger each and the items they’d need for a short jaunt away from home, including some rope and grappling hooks just in case. 

They crouched together at the edge of the roof, and Tamaris pointed to the west. “Let’s go to the docks. We can get a view of the Waking Sea and do some people-watching without having to talk to anyone.”

“The not-talking-to-anyone part of that is key, isn’t it?” he said drolly. 

“What are you talking about?” she said. “I love making chit-chat with random strangers.”

He snickered at her sarcastic tone. “I’m pretty sure one of the first things you told me was that you hate small talk.”

“Damn,” she said wryly. “I guess I shot myself in the foot there. Come on.” She pulled up her hood and checked the alley below to make sure no one was looking, then leapt from the edge of the roof onto her neighbours’ roof. 

She landed lightly on the balls of her feet and stood, then stepped back to make room for Felassan. He landed just as lightly as she, and they exchanged a quick smile before continuing to make their way swiftly across the closely-spaced roofs of Hightown. 

They didn’t speak as they traversed the roofs, but even so, Tamaris found herself smiling as they moved smoothly and silently in the direction of the docks. The last time she’d run the rooftops with anyone was with Sera during the Inquisition’s brief visits to Val Royeaux, but it hadn’t been that much fun: Tamaris and Sera had never really managed to warm up to each other during their time together in the Inquisition. Travelling this way with Felassan, in contrast… 

It was exhilarating. They moved smoothly toward the west, communicating with little glances and head-nods as they paused to let pedestrians pass beneath them before moving on so their shadows wouldn’t show. By the time they reached the less-affluent edge of Hightown where it started to blend toward the docks, both she and Felassan were grinning, and the obvious joy in his face made her feel even happier. 

She admired the dancing warmth in his amethyst eyes, then looked out at the span of shanty-town buildings that led toward the docks in a busy sprawl. “We need to be a bit more careful now. This area has more non-humans and more people who are wary, so they might actually look up. Do you want to stick to the roofs, or do you want to try sneaking through the alleys?”

“A shame we aren’t dressed more like city elves,” he said. “And that we have _vallaslin_. Otherwise I’d suggest the alleys.”

She nodded ruefully. “True. Okay, let’s stick to the roofs then.”

He nodded but didn’t reply, and he had a funny little half-smile on his face. She tilted her head. “Something wrong?”

He shook his head. “I’m just wondering how you coped with the social parts of being the Inquisitor.”

She scoffed. “‘Cope’ is the right word. I did what I had to, but everyone knew to leave me the fuck alone in my quarters or my tent for at least an hour after doing anything that required a lot of sucking up.”

He nodded, and the twist of his lips made it clear that he was trying not to laugh. Tamaris elbowed him. “Don’t laugh, you jerk,” she scolded. 

He snickered, then tilted his head fondly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t laugh. Being polite to the ignorant shemlen can’t have been pleasant for you.”

She shrugged wryly. “Some parts of it weren’t all bad. I actually did like learning more about the average people in the towns and stuff. Or some of them, at least. It was especially nice when they stopped being assholes about me being Dalish.” She settled into a more comfortable crouch. “It was really nice getting to know more elves who grew up in the cities. And getting to know more dwarves.” She glanced at him. “Can you believe I’d never met a dwarf before I joined the Inquisition?”

“That doesn’t entirely surprise me,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose at him, uncertain at first if he was teasing her, then relaxed when she saw that he was still looking at her in that warm and expectant way. “Yeah,” she said. “Being the Inquisitor wasn’t all bad. A lot of it was, but not every part of it. It’s interesting having friends now who _aren’t_ elves.”

“You bear a great love for people,” Felassan said.

She looked at him in genuine surprise. No one had ever said that to her before. “What makes you think _that?_ ” she said.

He lifted his eyebrows slightly. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

She stared at him. She honestly couldn’t decide if he was right or not. “I… don’t know,” she said slowly. “I think…” She trailed off and frowned at him. She actually had to think about this for a minute.

“I like the idea of people,” she said finally. “What they _could_ be like if they weren’t assholes, or if they stopped acting like assholes. And I like the ones who actually match up to that idea. Like Dorian and Cassandra.” She huffed a little laugh. “Cassandra and I did _not_ like each other when we first met. It’s a lucky thing we didn’t kill each other the first day we met, honestly. But she…” Tamaris paused and thoughtfully tilted her head. “Cassandra is about as Andrastian as you can be, but I would say she’s one of my closest friends. Even if I forget to write to her and haven’t talked to her in months because _I’m_ an asshole.”

Felassan chuckled, and Tamaris shot him a wry little smile. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. I think people have potential. I’ve met enough now that I can _see_ the potential, you know? I think that’s what I kind of held onto when I started getting… fucking tired of the Inquisition shit.”

Felassan nodded. He was still watching her with a particular kind of warmth that made her belly writhe in an excited-but-nervous sort of way.

She dropped his gaze and adjusted her hood. “Anyway. Let’s, um, keep moving.”

“Lead the way, _avise,_ ” he said quietly. 

They continued their journey toward the shoreline, moving more slowly and cautiously now to accommodate for the greater visibility. Their travel required more creativity now, including some wall-climbing and some creeping along half-crumbled walls, but they finally reached the docks without being detected. The buildings here were older and some were in disrepair, but in some ways that made it even easier to sneak across them, since a number of them were unoccupied. 

They finally settled on the sun-bleached roof of what appeared to be an abandoned inn right close to the pier. Tamaris briefly left Felassan’s side to get them some fresh fish-and-chips, and soon they were perched at the edge of the roof with their lunches while the bustle and noise of the docks carried on below. 

The Waking Sea was surprisingly calm after the three straight days of storms. The swish-and-hush of water against the docks was a soothing underbeat to the sounds of the people below as the port came to life after the prolonged bad weather. Fish merchants were out in force and aggressively hawking their wares, and the ship’s crews were hailing each other more boisterously than usual. Gulls were floating around overhead and calling out in shrill cries, and the usual sharp stink of fish and brine was blessedly dampened by the rain, allowing Tamaris and Felassan to enjoy the fresh fried scent of their food.

Felassan took a careful bite of his steaming-hot fish, and his eyes widened as he chewed. “This isn’t seasoned with anything but salt.”

“Is that a problem for you, ser master-chef?” she teased.

He shot her a chiding smirk. “No, _avise_. I like it. Some things are better in their simplest forms.” He bit into a chip with relish, and Tamaris smiled at him before taking another bite of her own food. 

They ate in a friendly silence. Felassan finished his food first, and Tamaris watched as he ruefully inspected his fingertips, which were reddened from climbing the walls.

“It’s been years since I did this, aside from climbing onto the roof of your house,” he told her. “My fingers have gone soft.”

“We’ll do this again,” she said. “Your fingers will get toughened up again, no problem.”

He shot her a brilliant smile, and she smiled helplessly back at him before dropping her gaze back to her chips. “So, um. How do you know how to travel across the rooftops like this?” she asked.

“I might ask the same of you,” he said. He cocked his head curiously. “How does a Dalish elf know how to scale city walls and leap across roofs unseen?”

“I’ll tell if you do,” she retorted.

He chuckled. “A fair trade. I like it.” He stretched his legs out and rested back on his hands. “This will sound like I’m repeating myself, but it’s a hobby I picked up when I awoke in your time.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Really? You didn’t climb walls as a spy in Arlathan?”

“Never, in fact,” he said.

She stared at him in surprise. “Seriously? Never?”

He shook his head. “In Elvhenan, there were less strenuous ways of getting into places where you didn’t belong.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He gave her a slow and mischievous smile. “Magic, of course.”

She scoffed and popped her last chip in her mouth. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she said as she chewed. “What kind of magic?”

“Tricks or subtle illusions to distract or mislead, which would let me get into many places I would otherwise have been kept out of,” he said. “And simple non-magical tricks as well, such as modulating my posture and behaviour. I can make myself entirely unnoticeable if I want — a trick you are quite adept at yourself as we’ve been crossing these roofs, I’ve noticed.”

She nodded an acknowledgement of this, and Felassan went on. “I also collaborated with spirits. They could either get into tricky places in my stead, or bring me information that I couldn’t get on my own. When you want a door or a chest unlocked, a mischievous wisp can be your finest friend.” He shrugged. “And when necessary, I seduced my way into places that I needed to be.”

She sobered at this. “Oh. Shit.” 

He gave her a quizzical look, and she grimaced. “Sorry,” she said. “I know you said not to feel bad about you doing stuff like that, but I… I wouldn’t want to have to do that.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It was all through my own choice. And I don’t regret it.”

She nodded an acknowledgement of this. “So you learned to climb buildings and all that when you woke up?”

“Yes,” he said. “For lack of easy access to magical distractions and especially to spirits, I had to learn other things. Besides, it was a good way to keep myself entertained.”

She tilted her head fondly. “You really don’t like being bored, do you?”

He smiled at this. “Does anyone?”

She shrugged. “Kind of. Some people really like just sitting around doing nothing.”

“Lucky them,” Felassan said dryly. “They probably get into less trouble that way.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’d take trouble over boredom any day.”

He grinned. “Trouble of a certain kind, certainly.”

She huffed in amusement, and Felassan nudged her shoulder. “Your turn. How did you learn the art of silent sneaking?”

She brushed the lingering salt off of her fingers. “Well, Marin and I liked climbing trees when we were younger.” She shot Felassan a pointed look. “I know you think this sounds like a Dalish stereotype or some shit, but when you grow up mainly in the woods, it’s just something you do for fun.”

“I’m not disdaining,” he assured her. “Just listening.”

She relaxed slightly. “Whenever my clan came across old Elvhen ruins, Marin and I and a couple of our friends would be the ones to climb around in them to find anything useful or informative. That came in useful with the Inquisition, strangely enough.” She gave Felassan a rueful look. “A lot of climbing around in ruins and abandoned castles.”

“I can imagine,” he said. Then he smiled cheekily. “Did you do much climbing around in Skyhold as well once you’d moved in?”

She smiled. “Yeah, absolutely. Skyhold was like a climber’s dream. Especially before it started getting fixed up.” She let out a little laugh. “Solas thought it was funny that I spent so much time climbing around the castle. It makes sense now why he liked me doing that.”

Felassan’s smile softened. “I imagine that he did.”

She smiled back at Felassan, then had a bizarre jolt of surreality as she realized something odd: she’d just mentioned a nice memory of Solas without feeling particularly bitter _or_ wistful.

Felassan peered at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said blankly. “It’s…” Honestly, she couldn’t tell if this was good or bad. Was it a good thing that she was able to think of Solas without feeling angry? But she _should_ still feel angry, shouldn’t she? He was still planning to tear the world apart, after all. But Felassan had said that simple anger would only get them so far in stopping Solas’s plans… 

Felassan nudged her gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She eyed him uncertainly. It still felt strange to talk so openly with Felassan about Solas, but this was hardly the most personal Solas-related conversation they’d had. 

She took a deep breath before speaking. “I just… mentioned Solas without thinking about it.” 

Felassan tilted his head, and Tamaris shrugged. “It’s just weird to think about him without getting pissed or sad. Mostly pissed. Or… pissed because I’m sad, I guess,” she admitted.

“You don’t feel angry or sad now?” he asked.

“No,” she said. She was still surprised by this fact. “I mean, maybe a little angry because he’s out there in the world somewhere planning to destroy it, but not sad because I miss him.” She looked Felassan in the eye. “It’s been a long time since I missed him.”

He nodded but didn’t speak, and Tamaris looked off toward the horizon and thought about Solas. How she’d once thought they would be together forever, and how abruptly he’d broken that dream. How she’d felt so blindsided when he’d fractured what they had, but how the following years had made it abundantly clear that she should have seen it coming, and that it had been her own fault for letting him get so close as to hurt her so deeply. 

_But that’s not true,_ she thought. Her talks with Felassan had taught her that: that Solas’s behaviour _wasn’t_ her fault. That wounds such as the one Solas had dealt her didn’t need to be fatal, and that maybe — just maybe — she didn’t need to be afraid. 

She gazed at the sky for a minute longer and let out a long, slow breath. Then she looked at Felassan. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always,” he said easily.

“How many times have you been in love?”

His answering smile was slow, sweet, and breathtakingly sage. “More times than the years you’ve lived,” he said. “And I remember the names of each and every one.”

Tamaris stared at him with a weird feeling of vertigo in her gut. She didn’t know what he’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. 

But it also made sense — he was thousands of years old, so being in love a few dozen times was a drop in the bucket, really. But still, to love that many people…

Her belly squirmed in a weird way. She ignored it and pressed on with her questions. “How did you… When those relationships ended. How did you… keep going?”

“I survived the first few,” he said. “That’s how I knew I would always survive, and that there was always more love to be found.”

She scoffed and looked down at her hands. “Spoken like someone who knew they were going to live forever.”

He laughed gently. “You may have a point. But your lives in this time are not that short.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “How can you say that? I’ve lived for a tiny fraction of how long you have!”

“And in that time, have you only ever fallen in love once?” Felassan asked.

Her belly swooped with nerves. She gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, then dropped her gaze to her knees and shrugged. “I see what you’re saying.”

He nodded, and Tamaris nibbled the inside of her cheek before speaking again. “Do you think that some people are meant to be together?”

He smiled. “You mean soulmates?” 

She shrugged awkwardly, and Felassan chuckled. “There are those who would disagree with me, but no, I don’t believe in that.” He sat forward and curled his arms loosely around his knees. “There are some partners we love more than others, and some partners who are a better match to the soul. Some partners will change with you as you change, and those are the ones you’ll stay with for longer — maybe for the rest of your life. But… no. I don’t believe that fate plays a hand in how your choose to tie your soul.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. She’d expected to feel sad at hearing that Felassan didn’t believe in soulmates, but his response actually made her feel better. More… in control, somehow.

He shifted closer to her and gave her a serious look. “Some loves are more important than others. _You_ are the one who decides which loves are most important to you.”

She swallowed nervously and nodded again. Then Felassan leaned back on his hands and gave her a cheeky smile. “Of course, you may not want to listen to me. I do have a vested interest in which of your loves is most important, after all.”

She scoffed, but his words made her heart squeeze in a jittery sort of way. _Am I important to you, then?_ she thought, but she didn’t have nearly enough courage to ask something that bold. 

She asked him something else instead. “Do you think it’s strange that you and I are so… that we’re, um, comfortable like this even though it’s only been a few weeks?”

To her mild surprise, he immediately shook his head. “Not at all. It is not the time per se that counts. It’s the quality of the time.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I believe I’m right in suggesting that you don’t speak to many people the way you have with me.”

“I… honestly, I haven’t spoken to anyone the way I do with you, really,” she admitted.

“It is the same for me,” he said. “You’ve heard more about me than anyone has heard in thousands of years.”

Her heart squeezed with sympathy. “You mentioned that before,” she said softly. “I still can’t imagine how lonely that must’ve been.”

He shrugged philosophically. “Is an arrow lonely before it strikes its target?”

She frowned at his flippant tone. “You’re more than a weapon, Felassan. You’re more than someone’s tool.”

His cheeky smile softened. “I know. I am happy to be a slow arrow, though. But I’ll choose my own path now, as you suggested.” He nudged her shoulder gently. “And I am not lonely now.”

A flutter of pleasure lifted in her belly. “Me neither,” she mumbled.

He gave her a sweet little half-smile, then sighed contentedly and looked out at the sky. “I’m glad we came here. The mansion is so quiet and clean. I’d forgotten what it was like to be in the thick miasma of the city.”

She scoffed. “Oh shut up. You love it.”

“The pungent scent of fish? Absolutely,” he said cheerfully. “It really helps to keep me awake.”

She poked his thigh in rebuke. “No, you brat. Being outside. Being… I don’t know, a part of things.”

His jocular smile faded somewhat. “I _was_ starting to feel rather trapped,” he admitted.

She wilted. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she asked. “Why didn’t you just ask if we could go for a little trip outside of the house?”

He quirked a playful eyebrow. “My name means ‘slow arrow,’ _avise_. Convoluted paths are in my nature.”

His tone was jocular, but Tamaris frowned. “So… hang on. Did you purposely tell me that story about the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ instead of asking if we could leave the house?”

He lifted his shoulders. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Why…” She trailed off and stared at him in consternation.

He gave her a fond look. “The blunt and straightforward approach works well for you. I, on the other hand, have often found that it’s easier to get a certain outcome if it hasn’t already been turned down.”

She rubbed her forehead in confusion. “So you’re saying you’d rather hint at something you want rather than asking for it, just in case you get turned down?”

He snorted delicately. “That’s one way of putting it, but yes. It’s difficult to change someone’s mind once they say no. If they haven’t yet said no, however, and if you’re able to cajole them into thinking it’s their idea instead of yours…” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Tamaris stared at him. What he was saying sounded so… bizarre. But the more she thought about it, the more she could see how it would have worked well for him as a spy: if you made someone think an action was their own decision, then you could deny having played a role in it. 

With an odd jolt of surreality, she also realized how this strategy might seem more normal for someone who lived forever. If you had all the time in the world, then you weren’t losing anything by using such a roundabout method to get what you wanted.

But… Creators, his behaviour sounded so manipulative. If he’d told her weeks ago that he acted this way on purpose, she probably would have been angry that he’d done it with her. But now, as she studied Felassan’s surprisingly guileless expression, she realized something: this wasn’t the first time he’d been so indirect with her. 

This wasn’t the first time Felassan had failed to ask for something he wanted, and had instead settled for something less. 

She gazed at him with an odd sort of ache in her chest. “You’ve had a lot of people say ‘no’ to you or turn down your suggestions, haven’t you?”

“It’s possible that I’ve heard ‘no’ a few times in my very long life,” he said wryly.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “You’re used to having people say ‘no’. That’s why you take the indirect route to get what you want, even though it takes forever.”

He gave her a patient look, as though _she_ was being the unreasonable one. “Some things are worth waiting for,” he said.

She gazed at him in rising frustration. “But you don’t… your life isn’t going to last forever anymore. You’re stuck in this dumb short lifespan with the rest of us! What if the thing you want is important, like — like leaving the house today? That was important.” She gestured at the Waking Sea. “This is important! You should have asked!”

“Some things are too important to risk losing on a careless request,” he said. 

His expression was solemn now, and Tamaris stared at him with an aching heart. She took his hand and carefully laced her fingers with his. “If you want something from me, you should ask,” she said firmly. “And if I say ‘no’ once, it doesn’t mean ‘no’ forever.”

He gazed at her silently, and she watched as his expression melted into something so complex that she didn’t even have a word for it. He looked hopeful but knowing, affectionate but also slightly sad, and she genuinely couldn’t decide if she liked the look on his face, or if she wanted to clear it back to a more simple sort of happiness.

Then he smiled faintly and bowed his head. “All right. I’ll try to be a blunt warhammer like you.”

She snorted a laugh and elbowed him, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “Asshole.”

He chuckled, and for a while they just sat on the roof holding hands and watching the gulls circle and soar overhead.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said quietly. 

She _tsk_ ed and gently nudged his shoulder. “Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For… I don’t know. Everything,” she said. And as soon as she said it, she realized that she meant it: she really was grateful for everything about him. His patience, his kindness, his constant sense of humour and the wisdom he’d distilled for her from his millenia-spanning life, not to mention the more tangible things he did for her: his cooking, his teas and the lovely joints he made, the way he made her laugh and the way he made her body come undone… There was so much about Felassan that she was thankful for, so much to appreciate, and it was enough to overwhelm her.

She took a deep breath to quell the rush of emotion in her throat and looked away from him. Then he squeezed her hand. “I didn’t tell you what became of Ghilan’nain’s pets,” he said.

She swallowed hard and glanced at him, grateful for the non-sequitur. “Okay. Tell me.”

“When I woke up in this time, I noticed that many creatures and plants from my time were gone,” he said. “In their place were a number of new animals and herbs and flowers that I’d never seen before. But there is one creature that has survived through the thousands of years between my people and yours. It’s much smaller now than it was, but it’s undeniably the same animal.” He quirked an eyebrow. “These little animals have the same soft fur and the same big luminous eyes, and when they’re hungry, they make a sad little cry similar to the _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ that Ghilan’nain kept in her cages.”

Tamaris stared at him. _Wait a second,_ she thought. It sounded like he was talking about… did he mean…?

“Are you talking about cats?” she said blankly.

He smiled, and Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding. _Cats_ are descendants of an ancient elvhen creature with poisonous claws and teeth?”

His smile widened. “The most striking thing about your modern cats is that they seem defenseless and small, but they are absolutely everywhere. In people’s houses, in barns, in filthy alleyways, in the wild — they’re everywhere, and they’re thriving. I was shocked when I realized how ubiquitous they are. Ghilan’nain’s pets didn’t have nearly the same independence.” He gently rubbed his thumb over hers. “The cats of this time may be smaller and less lethal than our _ghest’ina’lan’ehn_ , but they are still hunters nonetheless. They have survived incredibly well. It’s admirable, actually.”

She smiled at him. This time, she could easily see what he was really saying. 

She settled her shoulder more comfortably against his. “Well, I’m glad you have faith in us cats.”

“Mm,” he agreed. “I _am_ very fond of pussy.”

Tamaris double-taked at him. He had _not_ just said that.

His lips were curled in the most gorgeous shit-eating grin, and she couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter. 

“Felassan!” she crowed. “You filthy — I can’t believe you—” Another wave of laughter exploded from her lips, and Felassan pulled her close and put his hand over her mouth. 

“Shh,” he scolded. “You’ll draw attention.”

He was laughing too. She could hear it in his voice and feel it through the shaking of his body, and this only made it funnier.

She clutched his cloak and buried her face against his chest to muffle her laughter, and he curled his arms around her. When she’d calmed down enough to catch her breath, she lifted her face to grin at him. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she hiccupped, and she kissed him. 

Felassan kissed her back for a second before breaking the kiss to laugh against her lips, and Tamaris savoured the smooth and rolling sound of his mirth. They sat on the roof laughing and kissing and teasing each other, and as the afternoon trickled on, the sun’s fine golden rays pierced through the lingering clouds until the sky was once more a bright and brilliant blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes: none this time. All that stuff about Andruil and Ghilan'nain and the cats was made up. 😂
> 
> Three chapters next week! Maybe one on Sunday. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who fancies swinging by! xo


	17. Important

A few more days drifted by, and Tamaris and Felassan continued to enjoy their peaceful time together. They ate and trained in the library and painted the walls of the main room a rich shade of forest green, and Felassan finished _Swords and Shields_ and sweet-talked Varric into getting him a copy of the sequel. They went to the docks once more for another rooftop day trip, and they started planning a stealthy visit to the Viscount’s Keep, with Varric’s agreement. 

“Make sure you come straight to my office window, though,” Varric said. “All the others that aren’t stained glass are locked from the inside.” He huffed as he dealt out another hand of diamondback. “Probably to stop people from throwing themselves out of the windows when they get tired of waiting to see me.”

“That seems extreme,” Tamaris said.

“You underestimate how long people have to wait,” Varric said dryly.

She snorted. “No, I mean the windows all being locked.”

“It’s regulation,” Varric said. “Bran is always nagging me to lock the one in my office. Keeping it open is ‘against the rules’.”

She shot him a disbelieving look. “You’re the Viscount. Don’t you make the rules?”

Varric paused for a second and raised his eyebrows. “Shit. I do. How about that?”

Tamaris huffed in amusement, and Felassan chuckled as he picked up his cards. “You should lock your window especially for our visit. I can practice my lock-picking skills to get into your office.” He smiled winningly at Tamaris.

She gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t have lock-picking skills, you brat.”

He widened his eyes. “So what do you call the tricks you’ve been teaching me for the past two days?”

“It still takes you three whole minutes to pick the simplest lock!” she protested.

Varric lowered his cards. “Wait, you don’t know how to pick locks?” he said to Felassan.

“Not until two days ago,” Felassan said. He quirked an eyebrow. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said. “I just assumed you did. You seem the type to know how to get into locked doors.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh, and Felassan chuckled as well. “As much as I like that description, I must admit that no, I never learned. In Elvhenan, I had a few tricky spirit friends who opened locked doors for me.”

Varric thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Makes sense. Cole was the fastest lock-picker I ever saw.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” Tamaris said fondly.

Felassan discarded a card and smiled at her. “That’s something else you and Cole have in common, then.”

Tamaris scoffed. “Something else? What’s the first thing, then? Badly patched clothes?” She gestured at her loose harem pants, which had a hole in the knee that she hadn’t yet bothered to sew up.

Felassan gave her a fond and chiding look that made her heart flip. She poked his arm to distract him. “I’m still surprised you didn’t try to learn lockpicking as one of your billions of hobbies when you woke up.”

“It’s a rather difficult skill to pick up without a teacher and without easy access to locks,” he said. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I did briefly make an acquaintance some years ago who offered to teach me, but it didn’t happen.”

“What didn’t happen?” Tamaris said.

“The lock-picking lessons,” Felassan said.

His tone and expression were quite bland. Tamaris narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why didn’t they happen?” she asked.

“We were otherwise occupied,” Felassan said.

“Oh boy,” Varric muttered.

“Occupied?” Tamaris said. “You mean…” Then the other shoe dropped. 

She gaped at Felassan. “Did you fuck this person instead of learning to pick locks?”

Felassan laughed. “As always, your bluntness is a thrill.”

For some reason, her gut twisted. She ignored the unpleasant feeling and rolled her eyes. “Look at you, playing so coy.”

He smiled slyly. “Not coy. Just discreet. Why? Are you seeking fantasy fodder to keep you up at night?”

“What? No!” she exclaimed. Argh, _fuck,_ she could feel her cheeks going hot. 

Naturally, Felassan noticed. “Hm,” he said. “Your charmingly pinkened cheeks would say otherwise.”

Tamaris scowled, and Varric pointedly cleared his throat. “Cuddles, it’s your turn.”

She hastily looked down at her cards, and Felassan chuckled. “Fine, since you’re so obviously interested. This brief acquaintance was an assassin. We crossed paths in Ansburg while he was returning to Antiva. And yes, we engaged in physical pursuits instead of learning to pick locks like he offered.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Tamaris mumbled. “You don’t have to—”

“Hang on,” Varric interrupted. “An Antivan assassin?”

Felassan looked up. “Yes. Why?”

“What did he look like?” Varric asked.

“He was an elf with blond hair,” Felassan said. “A little taller than Tamaris. He had a tattoo on his face — not _vallaslin,_ though.”

Varric snorted. “Andraste’s ass. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tamaris lifted her head in surprise, and Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “Varric, do not tell me you know my one-night-stand.”

“Honestly, Jester, I wish I could say I didn’t,” Varric said wryly.

“Hang on,” Tamaris protested. “Are you serious? You know this person?” 

“Yeah,” Varric said. “Jester here slept with Zevran Arainai.”

“Oh, was that his name?” Felassan said casually. “He never mentioned.”

Tamaris stared at Varric. “Zevran—? But that’s the Hero of Ferelden’s friend! He’s famous! Infamous, I guess.” She tilted her head. “Didn’t Leliana say he killed an entire house of assassins back in Antiva?”

Varric chuckled. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“How do _you_ know him?” she demanded.

“We met briefly years back,” Varric said. “Just outside of Kirkwall.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, and Varric gave her a reproving look. “Not _that_ kind of meeting, Cuddles. He was in some trouble, and Hawke agreed to help him out as always.” He smirked. “He propositioned her when the whole thing was over.”

Tamaris’s eyes widened. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Varric said. He chuckled. “Fenris scared him off, though.”

Tamaris smirked as she remembered Fenris’s forbidding scowl. “I can imagine,” she said dryly.

Felassan sighed happily. “Isn’t it strange how these webs of connection tie such a large continent together?”

“Yeah, real small world,” Varric said drolly. “Especially if you’re one of Zevran Arainai’s conquests.”

Felassan laughed in surprise. “You’re calling _me_ a conquest? That’s a little insulting.”

Varric snorted in amusement, and they continued to play diamondback for a while longer. After Varric left, Tamaris was washing the supper dishes when Felassan sidled up to her and leaned against the counter.

He gazed at her in silence, and Tamaris eventually glanced at him. “What?”

“You were rather quiet toward the end of Varric’s visit,” he said.

She frowned. “No I wasn’t. I was concentrating on my cards. Varric always beats me at diamondback.”

“Hm,” he murmured. He continued to study her, and she shot him a resentful look.

“Stop hovering over me,” she scolded. “You’re in my way.” She plopped a clean bowl in the dish drainer and started aggressively washing a stein.

“Are you jealous?” Felassan asked.

“No!” she sputtered. Fucking fuck, her face was warming up again. “Of course not. I’m not — no, I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?” 

“You tell me,” he said. 

She shot him a glare. “It’s not — I’m not jealous. It’s nothing. Go away.”

He didn’t move. “It didn’t bother you to hear about the lovers I had in the so-called olden days,” he said.

 _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought in annoyance. He obviously wasn’t going to let this go until she talked about it. “That was — that’s different,” she muttered. “That was before.”

“This one encounter was also before,” he said. “It was over a decade ago, now.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “I…” She shrugged irritably. “I’m being stupid. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Felassan went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “It was a one-night encounter. A night of pleasure, nothing more.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” she said harshly. His words were meant to comfort her, but somehow they were having the opposite effect. The more he insisted that this one-night-stand wasn’t important, the more her stomach roiled at the thought that maybe _she_ wasn’t important, either. 

_That’s stupid,_ she scolded herself. _You’re being stupid._ Of course she was important to Felassan. But a mean, persistent part of her brain wouldn’t let it go. What if she _wasn’t_ important, really? What if they weren’t stuck in this house together? Would she still be important then?

She placed the stein in the dish drainer with a clatter and picked up the next stein, but before she could start washing it, Felassan brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “ _Avise,_ look at me,” he said softly. 

She shied away from his hand. “No, don’t — stop treating me like I’m being reasonable,” she complained. “I’m being stupid. I fucked other people before this and you hear about it all the time and you don’t act like a bitch, so I shouldn’t — don’t indulge me.”

“Tell me why this upsets you,” he said.

“I can’t, okay?” she burst out. “I can’t yet. I…” She swallowed hard. “I can’t yet.” She couldn’t tell him how much she wanted to be important to him, because that would mean telling him how important _he_ was, and the thought of admitting that still made her nauseous.

His expression softened into something terrifyingly tender, and Tamaris shook her head and started washing the stein. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped.

He eyed her for a moment longer, then leaned his elbows casually on the counter beside her. “How should I look at you instead?” he said. “Perhaps I’ll look at you as though I’m preparing to bend you over the kitchen island there.”

He was smirking now, and a perverse jolt of heat pierced her belly, despite her lingering unease. She shot him an unimpressed look. “Maybe you should go find something else to do that doesn’t involve looking at me.”

“Why would I do that?” he said. “Staring at you is my favourite form of entertainment. Should I tell you what I’m thinking about while I stare?”

She scoffed and plonked the stein in the dish drainer. “You’re a fucking menace,” she accused.

“That wasn’t a no,” he said smoothly, and he pushed himself away from the counter and stepped behind her. He braced his hands on the sink on either side of her, effectively penning her against the sink. 

Then he lowered his lips to her ear. “Right now I’m thinking about the scent right here at the back of your ear. It’s especially sweet after I’ve made you sweat.”

 _Not fair,_ she thought peevishly. Her whole body was already tingling with heat from a single sentence in his stupid lilting voice, and it wasn’t _fair_. “Stop it,” she said weakly. “You’re distracting me.”

He ignored her. “It’s not as good as your scent in other places, though,” he murmured. “Should I tell you about those places, _avise_? Should I describe them in loving detail, and how much I enjoyed taking that lovely scent of yours on my tongue?”

 _Fuck yes,_ she thought fervently. She took a shaky breath and reached into the sink for a plate to wash. “N-no. Go away.”

He brushed his lips over the tip of her ear. “Tell me again to go away, and I will,” he whispered.

She licked her lips and didn’t speak, and Felassan chuckled softly. “Good,” he purred.

She shot him a forbidding look. “Don’t you call me a good girl again.”

He leaned back and smiled knowingly at her. “Interesting that you thought I would. I still think you liked it.”

Gods, the memory of his smooth voice telling her she was a good girl while she climaxed on his lap... “I didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly.

He grinned. “You didn’t like it when I called you a good girl while my fingers were pressed into your pussy?”

His blunt words sent a bolt of pure lust straight to the apex of her thighs. “For fuck’s sake, Felassan,” she breathed. 

He chuckled, and the sound was supremely smug. “Oh, Tamaris. Just you wait until I say these things to you in my own tongue.”

She scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

He let out a gorgeous rolling laugh, and Tamaris fought hard not to smile in response to the uninhibited sound of his joy. He finally stepped back from the counter. “I’ll save my tongue for another time when you aren’t so _busy,_ then,” he said. He nodded at the sink of dishes, then sauntered toward the door.

“You’re an ass,” she called after him. 

He shot her a roguish grin. “Thank you, Tamaris. I try,” he said, and he disappeared into the main room. When he was gone, Tamaris allowed a stupid grin to burst across her face. 

_Fucking Felassan,_ she thought. And gods, she couldn’t wait until the right time came to do just that. 

********************

Later that night, Tamaris was sitting at the dining table patching up some of her clothes while Felassan read _This Shit Is Weird_ in front of the fireplace. He usually made witty remarks about the book while he was reading, but when a few minutes passed where he didn’t say anything, she looked up from her sewing.

He looked totally engrossed in the book, and there was a little smile on his face. Tamaris eyed him fondly for a second before speaking. “Where are you now?” she asked. 

“The Winter Palace,” he said. “The part where Briala appeared and killed the Harlequin.” 

“Oh yeah,” Tamaris said. “That was impressive. She’s faster than me, and that’s saying a lot.”

Felassan smiled at her, and Tamaris fondly noted the pride in his face. He returned his attention to the book, and Tamaris went back to her sewing. 

A few minutes later, he set the book down with a sigh. “A happy ending,” he said. “That’s an incredible rarity.”

She _harrumph_ ed. “I guess you could call it that. _I_ wasn’t particularly happy by the end of that whole shitshow.”

He chuckled. “I can only imagine. You must have been clenching your teeth the entire time.”

“You have no idea,” she said flatly. “I had the worst headache of my life by the time it was done. The entire time I just kept on reminding myself of Josephine saying that the situation was more dangerous than fucking Adamant Fortress so I had to behave myself at all costs.” She scoffed. “Killing that bitch Florianne was the cherry on the cake, though. I know that sounds bloodthirsty, but… gods, I was so fed up by the end of the night, and she had it coming.”

“I understand the feeling,” Felassan said quietly. “Believe me.”

She nodded, then went back to patching her pants. “You know what’s funny, though? Solas. He…” She scoffed. “This is one of the few times that his secret-keeping has ended up being kind of funny. He was so unbelievably relaxed the whole time. I brought him along thinking he was going to hate it, and there he was being all casual and looking like he belonged there, like any other noble.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Felassan said cheerfully.

Tamaris smirked. “He got drunk.”

Felassan snorted a laugh. “He did not.”

“He did!” she said. “He said the servants kept filling his glass. And he asked me to dance at the end of the night.”

Felassan burst out a joyous belly laugh. “ _Fen’Harel ma ghilana._ ”

Tamaris chuckled. “You’re exactly right,” she said, but without any bitterness, to her mild surprise. 

She cocked her head curiously. “Did Solas go to a lot of high-class parties in Arlathan, then?”

“He attended parties of all kinds, including high-class ones,” Felassan said. “He was incredibly charismatic and charming. He garnered considerable favour that way, and being Mythal’s favoured companion didn’t hurt him, either.” He shrugged. “His… reputation at those events changed over time, as I’m sure you can guess, but yes. He was quite the fixture at parties for some time.”

Tamaris huffed. “Charismatic and charming. Fucking unbelievable.” Then she tilted her head. “No, you know what, I can see it. When he was in the mood, he really could be, um, charming.” She trailed off, feeling a little awkward about complimenting Solas in front of Felassan.

Felassan, as always, didn’t seem to care; his smile was soft and warm as he regarded her. “In some ways, you and I knew a very different man,” he said.

Tamaris huffed softly. “Yeah.”

There was a brief friendly pause. Then Tamaris looked up from her patching. “What about you? Did you go to a lot of high-class parties in Arlathan?”

“I did, in fact,” he said. “But I was usually the one filling the glasses, not drinking from them.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You posed as serving staff?”

“Most often, yes,” he said. “I also went in the guise of a guest at times, posing as a noble from the different Evanuris’s houses — whatever we needed to get information. But I was always there in the capacity of a spy.”

“Oh,” she said blankly. “That’s…” She trailed off. It struck her as a little sad that Felassan had always been essentially working when he went to parties.

He cocked his head inquisitively, and she shrugged. “I hate parties like that, so I would never want to go. But did _you_ ever want to go as just a normal guest going to a normal party? Not going as a spy, I mean?”

“Oh, we had our own parties,” he assured her. “Fen’Harel’s people, I should say. Our parties were far more fun.”

Tamaris’s eyes widened. Solas had parties? “What were they like?”

Felassan lounged back on his cushions and folded his hands behind his head. “Think of the liveliest music you know, and imagine it being played in the most flawless harmonic notes you’ve ever heard.” His smile grew wistful. “Imagine fountains of wine that never stopped flowing until the final guests went home or fell asleep. Imagine spirits and elves twirling and flowing together in a swirling mass of energy and temptation beneath the sparkling lights of happy wisps floating overhead.”

She gazed at him in wonder. What he described sounded amazing, but she couldn’t help but take a dig at him. 

“Are you telling me that Solas hosted orgies?” she said slyly.

He smirked. “A crass term for what were truly beautiful and sensual events.”

She snorted. “Uh-huh. Well, it explains why Solas was able to dance so well even though he was drunk.”

Felassan’s smile curled wickedly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to make me jealous.”

She tutted. “No. Of course not. I’m not _that_ petty.”

“Good,” he said. “Because if that was your intent, it isn’t working.”

“I can tell,” she said dryly. Then she gave him a thoughtful look. “You really never seem to care when I talk about Solas. Or Bull, for that matter.”

He shrugged easily. “Why would I care? I’m here now, living in your house. I’m the one who gets to kiss you whenever I feel like it. What reason do I have to be jealous?”

She eyed him with no small amount of admiration — and just a little wistfulness. What must it be like to be so confident? “It’s your house too,” she said. “You should think of it like that.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he bowed his head. “You are gracious as ever.”

She huffed dismissively, then waved at _This Shit Is Weird_. “So. Do you have any other questions about the Halamshiral bullshit?”

“Of course,” he said. “Many, in fact. First and foremost, how you and Briala got along in the wake of your victory.”

“We got along fine,” she said. “I mean, I only actually saw her once more after that at the Arbour Wilds, since she kept working in the shadows behind the throne. She got letters to Leliana about information we could use, things we might want to look into, stuff like that. I sent items to her that I thought she might find useful, and a couple of times I had Leliana send her some non-elven help to get into places that are harder for elves to access. She managed to get a bunch of fighters to the Arbour Wilds for us before our army even got there, which now makes sense since if she had control of the eluvians. But yeah, it was a good partnership for a while.” 

Felassan raised an eyebrow. “For a while?”

“Yeah, until she…” Tamaris trailed off. She’d just realized something — something terrible.

She had forgotten to tell Felassan that Solas had taken the eluvians back from Briala. And she hadn’t told him that she hadn’t heard from Briala in about two years.

A dizzying rush of horror surged to her head, and for a second, she couldn’t breathe. _Oh gods,_ she thought numbly. _Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck._

His eyebrows rose. “What? What’s the matter?”

She forced herself to inhale. “I… Felassan, I… I have to tell you something.”

He frowned and sat upright. “What is it?”

 _He’s going to be mad when I tell him,_ she thought painfully. Already her heart was thrumming at the thought. 

She put her sewing aside and came to sit on the floor with him. “I don’t know where Briala is now, or what she’s doing,” she said. “And she…” Tamaris swallowed hard. “She doesn’t have the eluvians anymore.”

His face went slack with surprise. “What?”

“She… Solas told me that he took control of the eluvians from Briala,” Tamaris said.

He stared at her in silence for a second, and she watched with a pounding heart as his expression morphed from shock into something terrifyingly blank. 

“Tell me exactly what he said,” Felassan said.

 _Fuck,_ she wasn’t sure she could remember exactly what he’d said. It had been a year, and she’d been so enraged at the time. She took a deep breath and wracked her brain. “He said that Briala had control of the eluvians and his agent — I mean, you — you were supposed to take control of the eluvians, but didn’t succeed—”

He cut her off. “You told me that before.”

His voice was calm but hard, and she forced herself to reply calmly in turn. “He said that he had to… to personally…” She perked up slightly. “To override the magic personally. That’s what he said.”

“That is all he said?” Felassan asked.

“Yes,” Tamaris said.

“You didn’t ask him anything more about Briala?”

“No,” she said. “I… no.” In truth, she’d been too distracted by the mark crawling up her arm that she hadn’t thought to ask, but she didn’t bother to point this out to Felassan. 

He stood up and started pacing slowly in front of the hearth, and Tamaris waited in agony for him to say something else. When he finally stopped and looked at her once more, her gut seized with nerves.

He was smiling very slightly, but his smile was all wrong. It was the same sort of blank and dangerous smile he’d worn when he was talking about letting Imshael kill the Dalish. 

“Tell me everything that happened with Briala since the Winter Palace,” he said. “Every time you contacted her.”

“I can’t tell you that off the top of my head,” she said. “We can get the records from Charter and Harding — the spies who took over after Leliana became the Divine.”

He leaned back against the fireplace and folded his arms. “Then tell me what you do remember.”

“Most of our contact was initiated by Briala,” Tamaris said. “I never really knew where her letters were going to come from next, and I couldn’t predict when we would hear from her. Sometimes we got in touch three times in a month; sometimes I didn’t hear from her for two months in a row, so it was unpredictable.” She took a deep breath before going on. “About a year after Corypheus died, I realized that we hadn’t heard from Briala for about two months. It wasn’t unusual, since — I told you, sometimes it was a couple months between her letters. But then we started getting more correspondence directly from Gaspard.”

Felassan lifted his chin slightly. “From Gaspard.”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “He — I mean, half of Briala’s correspondence came through him anyway, since he was her puppet. But the tone of the letters had changed. Leliana and I were fairly sure that they were coming from Gaspard directly and not from Briala anymore. We…” She swallowed hard. “We were worried that he had pushed Briala out. That he’d become politically savvy enough that he wasn’t afraid of her manipulations anymore.”

“This was a year after Corypheus was killed?” Felassan asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“And a year after Solas left the Inquisition.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He rubbed his mouth, then started to slowly pace again, and Tamaris tried to quell her nerves at how unnervingly calm he was. “Did you try to find Briala?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “We – Leliana dedicated a group of her spies to trying to track Briala down. The last thing they managed to find about her was a rumour of a city elf in unusually fine armour moving through Val Firmin, but that was where the trail went cold.”

“When was that?” he asked.

“About…” She rubbed her forehead to try and remember. “It was something like six months before the exalted Council. Dragon 9:44, in the month of Wintermarch, I think.”

“And your last confirmed contact with her was when?”

“Dragon 9:43, in… the summer sometime. Bloomingtide or Jusitinian, I’d say.”

“Your spies will have records of all of this?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “Having Josephine and Leliana as advisors meant we had fastidious records of everything. I’ll get them for you.”

He nodded and continued to pace in silence, and Tamaris continued to watch him until he spoke again. “He overrode the magic personally…” He let out a soft and humourless little laugh that put her teeth on edge. “What a very careful phrase. It hides so many possibilities.”

Her heart twisted. This was what was worried her the most: to this day, she still didn’t know if Briala had given the eluvians to Solas by choice, or if he had taken them by force. From the awful little smile on Felassan’s face, it appeared that he felt the same.

He continued to speak in a quiet voice, but he wasn’t looking at her, and she got the feeling that he wasn’t speaking to her, but thinking out loud. “She could have given them to him willingly,” he said. “I did teach her to respect him and to think like him. If he presented himself to her the right way, she may have decided to join him by choice.” He tilted his head, and his terrible smile widened. “Then again, he could have simply killed her.”

Tamaris’s stomach dropped. It was one thing to privately speculate about this, and it was another entirely to hear Felassan saying it. “Do you think he did?” she asked quietly.

He looked up at her, and her heart stopped: his eyes were lambent with magic. “Do you not think him capable?” he asked. “He tried to kill me, after all.”

She swallowed hard. “That’s not… I’m just wondering what you think is more likely.”

“You tell me, Tamaris,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what you think?” His tone was pleasant but hard at the same time, and it hurt to hear him talking so coldly.

She ignored the hurt for now. This wasn’t about her. “I… I don’t know. If he’s willing to kill everyone in this time, then I…” She faltered before she could say that it was entirely possible that he’d killed Briala for the eluvians. 

“I don’t know,” she said lamely. 

He let out another little laugh, and his eyes flared with a virulent violet glow. “You know, I don’t know why I’m surprised. This was always a distinct possibility. Pitting a lone city elf against the mighty Fen’Harel with only her wits and training, and the — the information I told her about him….” A louder burst of laughter escaped him. “Of course this is what happened. I–” He snorted. “I should have known. I should have—” Another wave of laughter cut him off, and his hands burst into a red-hot glow like glittering embers.

“Hey,” she said. She stood up and took a step toward him, and he held up one glowing hand. 

“Stay back,” he barked. “Do not approach me.”

She stopped in her tracks. “This isn’t your fault. Solas being an ass is not your fault.”

“You should have told me,” he said in a hard voice.

Her heart quailed. This was what she’d both been expecting and dreading him to say. “I know,” she said. “I meant to. I—”

He interrupted her. “You meant to? Which means you thought of this before, and you didn’t tell me?”

 _Fenedhis,_ his voice was growing harder. “I forgot,” she said. “I genuinely forgot. With everything we were — we were talking about a lot of things together, and I forgot.”

He laughed – an ugly, humourless sound that sent a chill down her spine. “You forgot. You forgot to tell me something so significant. And you got angry at _me_ for not telling you about Imshael and the Dalish?”

Her heart was pounding in her throat. She knew why he was saying this, and she could see the parallels. But she also knew that if he wasn’t right at the edge of his mercurial temper, he would recognize those parallels himself, and he would know she hadn’t intended to deceive him. 

But he _was_ at the edge of his temper. His clenched fists were red-hot and smoking, and… fuck, was that smoke rising from the corners of his eyes?

She took a tiny step toward him. “I know,” she said gently. “I know why you’re mad, and I — Felassan, I am sorry I didn’t tell you before. But you need to breathe.”

“Breathe?” he said. “ _Breathe?_ You — you knew all along that everything I’ve done was for nothing, and you think I should—” He scoffed. “You think I should _breathe_?” He burst out laughing again, and a steaming tear rolled down his cheek. 

She took another step closer to him, and he shot her a venomous look. “Stop,” he said. “Step away from me.”

“No,” she said.

His face hardened. Flames were licking along the edges of his fingers now. “I said step back, Tamaris. Get away from me.”

She swallowed the fear that was collecting in her throat. “I am not leaving you alone,” she said firmly. 

“I said get _out_!” he bellowed, and a roaring wall of flame burst from his palms and roiled toward her.

She gasped and hastily slammed up a barrier, but even through the barrier, she could feel the scorching heat of his fire. She twisted away from him and shielded her head with her metal arm, and when the blinding flare of his flames died away, she released her barrier with a gasp and dropped to her knees.

Her limbs felt like jelly, and her heart was pounding with exertion. She’d never had to hold a barrier intact for that long before. She took a deep and bracing breath, then looked up at Felassan. 

He was crumpled on his knees in front of the fireplace with his face in his still-glowing hands. There was a two-metre-wide ring of ash and embers around him, and part of the carpet and a few of the silk cushions were burning. 

She shakily dragged herself to her feet and grabbed a pitcher of water from the dining table, then dropped to her knees and crawled over to the burning cushions. She poured the water over them, and the flames went out with a hiss. 

Tamaris carefully used the sodden cushions to tamp out the burning edges of the carpet. Then she crawled over to Felassan. She squeezed his arm, and he shook his head without looking up. 

“Leave me, Tamaris,” he said. “I don’t want you here right now.”

“I know you don’t,” she said. “But I’m not leaving.”

He shot her a scathing look. “Why not? So you can save me like you saved Marin?”

Her heart seized as though he’d grabbed it with an ice-encrusted fist. _It’s not him,_ she told herself. _He would never say that. That’s the cure talking_. Before she could speak or react, Felassan exhaled heavily and buried his face in his hands again. 

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Tamaris, leave me. Please.” 

His voice cracked on the word _please_ , and her entire chest ached at how defeated he sounded. She shuffled closer to him and smoothed her hand along his back. “I’m not leaving,” she murmured. “You’re stuck with me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Then you’re a fool,” he said. “I’m–” He sobbed suddenly, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with tears. “I’m… everything was for nothing. I threw away twenty-five years of walking in this world alone for nothing.” He laughed, and tears suddenly started pouring down his face. “It was—” He snorted a laugh, then sobbed and hastily wiped his face. “I… and you. I could have–” He was laughing hard now, and it was hard to understand him through his laughter. “I c-could have killed you just now. I could have…” He sobbed a very wet-sounding laugh and lowered his head to the carpet, and Tamaris gulped back the tears that were collecting in her throat. 

“Come here,” she said shakily, and she pulled gently on his arm. “Come here, brat. Come on.” 

He sobbed again, but he allowed her to pull him upright, and a moment later she was straddling his lap and hugging him while he cried into her shoulder. 

He clutched her tightly and sobbed, and Tamaris stroked his hair and his back while hugging him with her metal arm. His palms were still hot through her shirt, but as she held him and stroked his hair and the back of his neck, his hands gradually cooled to their usual warmth, and his wracking sobs faded to the occasional hiccup. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

She shook her head. “Don’t be.”

“No, I need to — you could have been killed. I could have…” He took a tremulous breath that ended on a sob. “I could have killed you.”

“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I’m not hurt.”

“You are,” he said. “You got burnt.”

She leaned away from him slightly, and her eyebrows rose in surprise; there were small patches of reddened skin on her left upper arm above the prosthetic, and now that she thought about it, her left ear was throbbing slightly as though it had been sunburnt. 

She shrugged and pulled him close again. “That’s nothing. It’ll heal easily. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have — what I said about Marin, I… _fenedhis lasa._ Tamaris, I—”

“You didn’t mean that,” she said firmly. “I know you didn’t.”

He let out another little sob-laugh. “I say the most heinous possible thing, and you simply forgive? You’re the epitome of kindness. Either that, or you’re very randy.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Keep it in your pants, Felassan.”

He let out a shaky little laugh, then tucked his face against her neck again. On impulse, she kissed his temple, and when his face crumpled with distress, she kissed his ear.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure everything out.”

“Shining optimism, too?” he said thickly. He sniffled. “You really are trying to seduce me.”

She huffed and kissed his temple again. “Shut the fuck up,” she whispered.

He chuckled wetly and hugged her hard, and they sat together on the floor in front of the fireplace just holding each other for a while longer.

Then Felassan sighed: a deep, heavy sigh like his lungs were emptying themselves completely. “I feel like a wrung towel,” he mumbled. “I can’t explain how exactly, but I do.”

Tamaris nodded; she could actually understand what he meant. “Why don’t you go to bed?” she said. “Get some sleep. If you want to talk about this more tomorrow, we can.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked.

Her stomach jolted. _Go to bed with you?_ she thought. His face was devoid of anything salacious, but she suddenly felt nervous all the same. 

As always, he knew what she was thinking; his lips curled slightly at the edges. “This is not a proposition, Tamaris. Simply a request for company.”

 _Obviously, you idiot,_ she scolded herself. She released a little breath and nodded. “Okay. Sure,” she said. 

They disentangled themselves and went up to Felassan’s bedroom. He immediately pulled his shirt over his head before collapsing onto the bed with a sigh, and Tamaris eyed his half-naked body with a combination of appreciation and apprehension. She hadn’t really been in his room since the night they’d had sex, and she was having a hard time looking at his desk or his bed without imagining the heated attention he’d lavished on her naked body. 

She prowled around the edges of his room, feeling a little guilty about the salacious slant of her thoughts. Then Felassan spoke in a humorous tone. “Are you going to stand guard over me, or are you going to come lie down?”

She shot him a sardonic look, then padded over to the bed and cautiously crawled onto it. He was lying on his back with one arm folded behind his head, and he smiled faintly at her as she lay down on her side facing him. 

She waited for him to make a clever remark, but he didn’t speak. Eventually the smile faded from his face, and Tamaris eyed him sadly; he was wearing that expression again, the ancient-elf look of morose world-weariness, but it was made even worse than usual by the puffy redness of his eyes. 

She shifted a little closer to him and squeezed his arm. He sighed, then reached over and squeezed her leg, and for a while they lay in silence while he idly stroked her leg with his thumb. 

He sighed. “Sixteen years I spent training Briala and five years as a Tranquil, all for nothing.” He let out a little laugh. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Why would you say it was for nothing?” she asked.

“Fen’Harel got what he wanted regardless of what I did. I might as well not have acted at all.” He scoffed disparagingly. “I might as well have stayed in _uthenara._ ”

“You know that’s bullshit,” she said gently. “You didn’t do nothing. If you hadn’t taken Briala under your wing, there’s no way she would have been resourceful and independent enough to be the powerhouse who controlled Orlais in secret for over a year.” 

He frowned at her. “I told you, I didn’t make her that way. She was—”

“She already had strength when you met her,” Tamaris cut in. “I know. But you can’t pretend that sixteen years of being the only person who really believed in her didn’t shape her. Your relationship with her was obviously important.”

“I helped shape her,” Felassan said drolly. “Excellent. And now she’s either dead, or an instrumental part of Fen’Harel’s new army.”

She frowned. “You don’t think she’s out in the world somewhere doing something else? Maybe working against him?”

“Unlikely,” Felassan said. “After spending sixteen years with my sneaky lessons in her head? I can’t see her working against him.”

“Really?” she said skeptically. “You don’t think there’s any possibility?”

Felassan was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Your spies would have found some evidence of her if she was still alive,” he said.

“Briala was a spymaster herself,” Tamaris reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as careful and suspicious as Briala was. And after working with Leliana for years, that’s saying a lot.”

Felassan huffed. “She was delightfully suspicious, it’s true. Even of me.”

She poked his arm. “See? If she was suspicious of you and you were her _hah’ren_ , then she’ll be suspicious of Solas too.”

“Which could mean she’s dead,” Felassan retorted.

“Or it could mean she’s dodging him very carefully,” Tamaris said.

He turned his head to smile at her. “You are trying very hard to cheer me up, aren’t you?”

“I’m just being realistic,” she said. “You’re the one who’s insisting on being all mopey and pessimistic.” She shrugged casually. “It’s pretty unattractive.”

He laughed, just as she hoped he would — his first genuine laugh since they’d started talking about this. “That hurts me, _avise_. The only thing I have going for me now is my looks.”

She smiled, but his words gave her a pang. Was he really feeling that down on himself?

She squeezed his arm, and he sighed again. “Really, I shouldn’t have expected anything else. This is what I get for acting on impulse instead of taking my usual circuitous route.” He turned his head to look at her. “I betrayed Fen’Harel on a whim, you know. I told you that before, I think?”

“You mentioned it, yes,” she said.

He shook his head slightly. “Everything I did for the two years before I was made Tranquil… it was all with my one goal in mind: to activate the eluvians and obtain control of them for Fen’Harel. In one way or another the entire time, I pursued that goal. And at the last second, right when I was about to get the one thing I sought, I…” He sighed. “I stopped her.”

Tamaris frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Briala was about to tell me the phrase to unlock the eluvians,” he said. “It would have allowed me to activate them, and ultimately to take control of them from her. Right when she was about to tell me the passphrase, I told her to keep it to herself.”

She stroked his arm. “You must have been thinking about taking Briala’s side for a while, though,” she said. 

He shook his head again. “It was unplanned. I was working toward the mission I’d been set. And at the last minute, I changed my mind.” He sighed. “That’s why this happened. That’s why Fen’Harel…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, and a tear trailed down the side of his face toward his ear.

He lifted his hand from Tamaris’s leg to wipe the tear away. “This is what happens when a slow arrow tries to act quickly,” he said matter-of-factly. “I missed my target completely.”

More tears were tracking down the side of his face, and Tamaris could feel his tears as a sympathetic ache in her chest and throat. Before she could muster an argument to counter him, he _tsk_ ed. “ _Fenedhis_. I forgot. The Fade-blocking tea.” He started to push himself upright.

Tamaris sat up with him and patted his chest. “I can get it. You stay here.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll get it. You stay here and get comfortable. Maybe by taking off some of your clothes.” He smiled at her, but the cheekiness of his expression was diluted by the tears in his eyes. 

She scoffed weakly. “Uh-huh.” 

He chuckled, then left the room and went downstairs, and Tamaris sat cross-legged on his bed as she waited for him to return. When a full ten minutes went by without his return, however, Tamaris started to worry.

She slid off of the bed and padded toward the door, but he was already on the second-floor landing with a mug in each hand. He cocked his head as he approached her. “Were you going back to your room after all?”

“No,” she said. “Just coming to see what was taking you so long.” She eyed him worriedly; it was obvious that he’d been crying downstairs. 

“Did I not bring your tea back quickly enough for you?” he said. He held one mug out to her.

She forced herself to smile as she took it. “Nope. This took way too long. I’m a pampered princess, remember?”

He smiled and ushered her back into his bedroom. “A pampered princess with patched pants. The most charming kind.”

They sat on the edge of the bed and sipped their tea. Felassan’s absent gaze was on the opposite wall as he drank his tea, and Tamaris tried to think of something to say to encourage him, but she was feeling a little bit at a loss. 

He finished his tea first and set the empty mug on the table, then watched her silently as she sipped her tea, and a little shiver ran down her spine; his expression was serious and sad, but his violet eyes were intense, and it almost felt like he was waiting for something. 

“You’re staring. It’s weird,” she said, and she took another gulp of tea.

He shook his head slightly. “I’m simply admiring you,” he said.

She frowned at him. That wasn’t true. She knew what his face looked like when he was really admiring her, and she knew the squirmy mixture of excitement and fear that his admiration made her feel. 

The way he was looking at her now wasn’t admiration. It was… it was hard to describe. He was obviously still preoccupied, but at the same time, it was like all of his attention was focused on her. 

“Are you finished with that?” he asked.

“Uh, not yet,” she said. She drank the last few mouthfuls of tea, then handed him the empty mug. “What’s going on with you?”

He put the mug on the bedside table, then turned back to face her and stroked her jawline with his thumb, and her breath stuttered for a second. He was leaning in to kiss her, and she instinctively parted her lips, but at the moment that their lips met, all she could think about was how sad he looked. 

His hand smoothed along the side of her neck and into the hair at her nape. He pulled her head back gently and nipped her lips before tracing them with his tongue, and for a moment she lost herself in the ever-intoxicating feel of his lips on hers. When he broke their kiss, however, her sense of unease returned; his face was intense but still sad, even though he was shifting closer to her. 

He slid his arm around her and crawled onto the bed, bringing her with him. “Lie down with me,” he murmured. 

She followed his lead, despite her misgivings. When she was stretched out on her back with Felassan beside her, he rolled toward her and stroked her neck in his palm, but his expression was all wrong; he looked sad and preoccupied, even though his eyes were roaming over her face and her bare collarbones. 

His fingers eased beneath her collar to stroke the strap of her prosthetic arm. “Take this off,” he murmured. 

She shook her head slightly. “I… I’d have to take off my shirt.”

“Then take off your shirt,” he said, and he lowered his face to hers. 

“Felassan…” she whispered pleadingly, but it was too late to say anything more; he was kissing her again, hypnotically slow and sensual kisses mostly with his lips and a tiny bit of tongue, and his hand was drifting down away from her neck. 

His fingers moved over her breast, and she gasped and arched helplessly as his thumb found her nipple through her shirt and bra. Then his hand was sliding lower still to the hem of her shirt.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth and slid his fingers beneath her shirt and up over her ribs. Tamaris whimpered into his mouth, then nipped his tongue with her teeth.

He grunted softly, then pulled away from her and smiled. “That hurt. You know I like that.” 

His smile wasn’t reaching his eyes, and it only made him look even sadder. She shook her head and put her hand over his to stop him from moving it any further. “Stop,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to do this.”

His smile faltered, and she squeezed his hand. “Not like this,” she clarified. “It’s not… I don’t want this unless you’re happy about it.”

“This would make me happy,” he said, but his smile was feeble now, and she knew that he could see her point. 

She drove it home anyway. “No it wouldn’t,” she said gently. “You know it wouldn’t.” 

He didn’t reply, and she watched as the feeble veneer of a smile left his face. He pulled his hand out of her shirt and flopped onto his back, then covered his face with his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Tamaris, I…” He broke off with a shaky exhale, then rolled onto his side away from her. 

His shoulders were shaking. Tamaris sat up and pulled off her shirt, then unstrapped her prosthetic arm and placed it on the floor beside the bed. Then she snuggled up behind him and curled her right arm around his waist. 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her arm more tightly around him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he said.

His voice was cracked with tears, and it broke her heart. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

He burst out a little sob-laugh. “At least you have already _done_ something. Many things, in fact. An entire novel’s worth of things.”

“If that’s what’s bothering you, we can ask Varric to write a novel about you,” she said playfully.

He laughed harder, then sobbed again, and Tamaris hugged him more firmly. “You’ve done things, Felassan,” she insisted. “You’ve done important things since you woke up here. You were important to Briala. If she was here, she would agree.”

“She wouldn’t agree if my actions got her killed,” he retorted. 

“Don’t assume she’s dead,” Tamaris said firmly. “We’ll start looking for her again, okay? We’ll find her. If there’s anyone she’ll actually respond to, it’s you.”

He didn’t answer, but she could hear him sniffling subtly. She placed a kiss in the center of his bare back. “You did important things, okay?” she said quietly. “You’re still doing important things.”

“I’ve been in this house for weeks trying to cast simple spells and setting your house on fire instead,” he retorted. “How is that important?”

“You’re relearning your magic after being made Tranquil because you defied Fen’Harel for the sake of someone you care about,” she said fiercely. “That’s fucking important. You’re important.”

He didn’t reply, and for a while they simply lay spooned together on his bed. Then, slowly, he rolled over to face her. 

He looked serious still, and his eyes were puffy with tears. But for the first time since the topic of Briala had risen, his face was truly calm. He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “You are the most important person in my life, _avise_ ,” he murmured. “In case there was any doubt.” 

A thrill lifted her heart, and she dropped his gaze. “You don’t — that’s not why I–” 

“Tamaris,” he said, “look at me.”

She nibbled her lip, then lifted her eyes to meet his soft violet ones. He smiled faintly at her, and his expression was so tender now that it made her pulse rise. “You are important to me,” he said quietly. “There is no one else in any time or place that I would rather be with than you.”

She swallowed hard. Gods help her, but she felt exactly the same way. And she wanted so badly to tell him so, but the words were stuck behind the lump that was swelling in her throat. 

She took a deep breath, then shifted closer to him and brushed his nose with hers. He tilted his head slightly, and she brushed her lips to his, and then they were kissing: slow and gentle kisses led by Tamaris and followed easily by Felassan, kisses that she did her best to pour all of her unspoken feelings into as best as she could. 

She pressed her lips to his and tasted the delicate fullness of his lower lip with tiny gentle laps of her tongue, and with every press and pull of her lips, she hoped that he would know just how very _important_ he was. 

They lay together in Felassan’s bed for time uncounted, kissing slowly and carefully until sleepiness slowed their kisses down to a gentle nuzzle of their noses. Felassan’s eyes were already closed, and Tamaris listened to the gradual softening of his breathing as he fell asleep. 

_You’re important,_ she thought. _So fucking important._ And someday, someday soon if she was lucky, she would find the courage to tell him so. 

With that last determined thought, Tamaris closed her eyes and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A single Elvhen phrase here: _Fen'Harel ma ghilana_ = 'The Dread Wolf guides you.' This is what Felassan says when Tamaris tells him that Solas asked her to dance. 
> 
> The tiny headcanon that Cole is a superquick lock picker is inspired by this beautiful headcanon by [@rederiswrites on Tumblr.](https://rederiswrites.tumblr.com/post/181241130371/headcanon-that-cole-never-studied-or-practiced-at)
> 
> Also, random, but if anyone uses Spotify - I have a [Spotify playlist for Felassan and Tamaris](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4qma06ExfRSeQ4GWr96LJj?si=m4g5a0LLQbedOzgFlaQdjQ) if you want to have a peek! It's got some post-Solas breakup/dumping songs, some Felassan and Tamaris "personality" songs, and some ship-y love-y songs.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service! xo


	18. Attention

The next morning, Tamaris woke up to the feeling of a warm and unfamiliar weight across her waist. 

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself gazing at a bedroom ceiling that wasn’t hers. A moment later, she realized what the weight was: it was Felassan’s arm.

A slow and tingling wave of realization lifted through her chest. She was sprawled on her back on Felassan’s bed, and Felassan was curled around her. His head was tucked under her left armpit and his arm was snugly banded around her waist, and their legs were tangled together in a jumble of ankles and knees. 

He was still fast asleep. His breathing was easy and slow, and Tamaris didn’t want to break the moment of idyllic stillness by waking him up. So she lay in his bed, ensconced in the warmth of his half-naked body and surrounded by his sleepy masculine scent, and she pondered the strangeness of waking up in someone’s arms.

She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Solas had left her. Bull had dozed off in her bed a few times here or there, but she’d always woken him before he could spend the night, and he’d always casually accepted her preference to sleep alone. 

_Not a preference, exactly,_ she amended. It was more accurate to say that the thought of falling asleep and waking up with someone was more than she could bear. For the first few months in particular after Solas had left her, the liminal moments between waking and sleeping at the start and end of the day were the moments that she’d been most tortured by Solas’s rejection and departure. By the time she and Bull had started having sex, she’d become re-accustomed to sleeping alone. She’d grown accustomed to having those half-awake moments of morning and night to linger in the unmitigated bitterness of her thoughts, and the thought of having Bull witness her bitterness and her grief was something she couldn’t tolerate.

But right now, in this moment of drowsy half-wakefulness in Felassan’s arms, she felt no bitterness at all. He was wrapped around her in an uninhibited embrace, bleeding warmth into her body from his bare skin into hers, and there was no room for bitterness when he made her heart feel so full. 

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled a sleepy little groan and tightened his arm around her waist. Tamaris smoothed her right hand slowly along his arm, and he sighed once more and shifted beside her. 

Then he lifted his head slightly and rubbed his face against the side of her breast. “Hm,” he mumbled. “What a perfect dream this is.”

She could hear the humour in his husky morning voice. She smiled and gently pinched his arm. “You don’t have dreams, brat.” 

“So this is reality, then? Even better.” He nuzzled her breast again, then lifted himself onto his elbow and playfully nuzzled her sternum, and she laughed and tweaked his ear. 

“Get off, you pervert,” she scolded. “I’m still half-asleep.” 

“Don’t lie to me, _avise,_ ” he murmured. “You were waiting for me to wake up and pay attention to you. It’s all right for you to admit it.” He shifted higher up on the bed so they were face-to-face and cradled her neck in his palm, and Tamaris’s breath hitched; he was pressed against her side, and his morning wood was a hard ridge against her hip. 

A rush of nervous excitement pulsed from her head straight down to her groin. She darted her eyes to his face, but to her surprise, his expression was serious and not at all salacious. 

His thumb brushed gently over her cheekbone. “Thank you, Tamaris,” he said softly. “For staying with me.”

She stared wordlessly at him for a moment. Gods help her, the tenderness in his face and the stroke of his thumb on her cheek, and his lovely hardness pressing against her hip… 

This was the moment. Felassan had told her in no uncertain terms that she was important to him, and they’d just woken up together for the first time in his bed. If she’d been waiting for a moment that felt more _special_ , there was no better time than this. 

_Don’t be scared,_ she told herself. She inhaled shakily through her nerves. “It’s no big deal,” she said, and she smiled weakly. “I think your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

He smiled in return, but his eyes remained meltingly soft. “Then you’re welcome to share my bed whenever you want.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered. 

“Good,” he murmured. His eyes were tracking slowly over her face as though he was drinking in every curve and line, and she waited with an increasingly erratic pulse for him to kiss her. 

He leaned in slowly and brushed his nose to hers, and she breathed shallowly as his lips ghosted over hers without quite touching. By the time he finally pressed his lips to hers, her heart was a rapid tattoo in her ears that was rendering her nearly lightheaded. 

His kiss was infinitely gentle, like he was focusing solely on the softness of her lips and nothing else, and Tamaris passively accepted the perfect pleasure of his lips while trying to muster the courage to push this kiss into something more. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t make a move fast enough: Felassan was already leaning away from her. “Come,” he murmured. “Let’s have breakfast early since you’re awake. You can send a letter to Varric for me.”

She watched dumbly as he sat up and rolled off of the bed. “Letter to Varric?” she repeated.

He nodded as he released his hair from its now-messy braid. “I want the Inquisition’s records pertaining to Briala. I would say we should write directly to your former spymaster, but I figure that’s unwise since she’s the Divine. Her correspondence is heavily monitored, I assume.”

“Um, yeah,” Tamaris said. She was still reeling from his abrupt transition from tender to businesslike. She sat up and ran her fingers through her unruly hair to try and get into a more intellectual gear. “There’s a, um, a cipher that we use. Well, multiple ciphers. They change, too, so I don’t know which one they’re using right now. Varric would know. I’ll ask him to come over when he has a minute.”

Felassan shot her a smile as he deftly braided the hair by his temples. “Multiple changing ciphers. Fen’Harel would approve.” 

She huffed as she slid off of the bed. “As long as he and his damned spies don’t break them, he can approve whatever he wants.”

Felassan’s smile widened, but he didn’t make a clever retort. He finished tying his hair into a tail at his nape, then grabbed a clean shirt from the dresser and headed toward the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said. “Making poached eggs for a certain princess.” He shot her a sly smile, then left the room.

She let out a slow breath, then sat on the bed and picked up her prosthetic arm. She strapped on her arm, then wandered back to her own room to tidy up and change her clothes, and as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she wondered why she and Felassan weren’t having sex instead of talking business. 

He’d kissed her, and he’d clearly been ready and willing. So why hadn’t she acted? She’d been waiting for the right time, whatever that meant, and it had felt like the right time. It was the perfect time, actually, with the perfect stillness of the morning and the sweetness lingering between them after the way they’d fallen asleep. So why hadn’t she fucking _done_ something about it? 

But Felassan was still obviously preoccupied thinking about Briala and where she might be now. So maybe he wasn’t in the mood. That would explain why _he_ hadn’t taken their kiss any further. It was probably for the best that Tamaris hadn’t tried to take it further either, then. 

She patted her face dry and dragged her fingers through her curls. _Stop thinking about this,_ she scolded herself. The more she thought about it, the more weird she was going to get about it, and she didn’t want anything about her second time with Felassan to be weird. 

She padded downstairs and went into the study, then scribbled a quick casual note to Varric asking him to come over for tea: a request that he’d know to be both sarcastic and suspect. She rolled up the note and headed into the kitchen, intent on passing through to the tiny yard out back where they hosted the raven that Varric had given them. 

Felassan was slicing green onions while a large pot simmered on the stove. It was filled with a meaty-smelling porridge made of rice, and Tamaris slowed her pace to breathe in the savoury scent. “That smells great,” she said. “Very comforting.”

He smiled at her. “I’m glad you think so. It’s my preferred type of porridge for especially cold winter mornings.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s the middle of spring.” 

“Comforting porridges are always in season,” he said. 

He was smiling, but he seemed a little preoccupied, and a pang of sympathy tugged at her heart. She took a step toward him and stroked his arm, but before she could say anything, she heard a knock at the door. 

She hurried to the door and opened it to find Varric on the front step. She stood back to let him in. “How is it that you’re always here right when we need you?” 

“It’s my special dwarven sixth sense,” he deadpanned.

She snorted a laugh, and Varric smiled faintly as he followed her inside. “You’re up early.”

“You’re _here_ early,” she retorted. She looked at him in sudden concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he held up a meticulously wrapped package. “Special delivery for Jester, actually. From Dorian.”

“A package for Felassan from Dorian?” she demanded.

Varric gave her a knowing look. “If you want presents from Tevinter, you probably shouldn’t storm off in the middle of Sparkler’s calls.”

Tamaris wilted. “Oh. Right. I meant to call him and apologize. Fuck.”

“It’s all right,” Felassan told her as he wandered into the room. “I smoothed things over for you.” He nodded a greeting to Varric. “What’s this about presents from Tevinter?”

Varric handed him the package, and Tamaris watched curiously as Felassan unwrapped it.

It contained what looked like a lacquered jewelry box, and Felassan nodded in satisfaction as he opened it. “Excellent. I can work with these.” He cocked his head. “Well, hopefully. Eventually. If my magic cooperates.”

Tamaris peered into the box, and her jaw dropped. “Are those sending crystals?”

“They certainly are,” he said cheerfully. 

She stared at him in disbelief. “Dorian gave _you_ sending crystals?”

Felassan grinned at her. “Are you jealous?”

“Kind of, yeah,” she said. “He said the sending crystal was a special present for me, and he sent you _two_? You only spoke to him for about twenty minutes!”

Felassan shrugged casually. “I suppose twenty minutes is long enough to make me worthy of special presents.”

Varric shook his head in amusement and sat at the dining table. “Didn’t take much for Sparkler to fall for your charms, huh?”

Tamaris gave Felassan a stern look. “Did you flirt with Dorian to get those crystals?”

Felassan _tsk_ ed. “Both of you are besmirching my elvhen honour. It’s a favour between magical colleagues.” He picked one up and inspected it critically. “I’m hopeful that I can do some experiments with these at some point. A new hobby, perhaps,” he said cheekily to Tamaris.

“Oh,” she said in genuine surprise. “What kind of experiments?”

Varric piped up. “Really complicated theoretical magic ones, if their chit-chat last week was anything to go by.”

“Exactly,” Felassan said.

Tamaris frowned slightly at this vague reply, and Felassan gently chucked her chin. “Don’t frown, _avise_. I really didn’t have anything much in mind when I requested these, aside from simple curiosity. But now, knowing that the eluvians are all in Fen'Harel’s control…” His face faded into seriousness as he looked down at the sending crystals. “These might end up being more useful than anticipated.”

Varric tilted his head. “What was that? What’s going on?”

Felassan looked up at him. “I just learned yesterday that Fen'Harel took control of the eluvian network from Briala.”

“Oh, yeah,” Varric said. Then his eyebrows rose slightly. “Wait, you didn’t know that?”

Tamaris’s gut wrenched with guilt, but Felassan’s reply was perfectly pleasant. “No, we just discussed it yesterday. And that’s why I’m glad you’re here.” He placed the box on the dining table and looked at Varric, and his expression was unusually businesslike. “I want all of the Inquisition’s records about Briala — all of her correspondence, any reports about her activities, everything.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose further. “Oh. Uh, sure. I can get those to you later today.”

Felassan’s face dropped into a look of surprise, and Tamaris looked up in surprise as well. “What? You can?”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “They’re in my office.”

She stared at him. “Wha — why? I thought Charter or Harding would have them.”

“They’ve got some stuff, sure, but so do Josephine and Cassandra, and so do I,” Varric said. “And a few other people too. We didn’t want all of the Inquisition’s stuff in one central archive.” He looked at Felassan. “Lucky for you, the stuff relating to Briala is with me. I’ll have Bran bring it over today. It’s only one chest’s worth, I think.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe two. Eh, Bran can handle it. He needs to get out of the office anyway.”

Tamaris was still gazing at Varric in surprise. “The Inquisition documents are all divided up? Doesn't that make it a pain in the ass when someone needs something?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Felassan said. “Especially since you don’t have eluvians to access each other’s records quickly.”

Varric huffed. “It is, yeah. So be grateful that the shit you need is with me.”

Felassan bowed his head seriously. “I am grateful. Let me feed you to show my thanks.”

Varric smiled faintly. “I was going to ask for breakfast either way, but sure.”

Felassan smirked at him, then headed back to the kitchen, and Varric raised his eyebrows at Tamaris. “He’s on a mission, huh?” he said quietly.

She grimaced guiltily and sat at the table. “I forgot to tell him earlier that Solas took the eluvians from Briala. He…” She hesitated and lowered her voice. “I’m trying to help him hold onto the hope that she’s not dead.”

“Do _you_ think she’s still alive?” Varric said very quietly.

 _I don’t know,_ she thought. But now that it mattered so much to Felassan, she wasn’t going to entertain the possibility until every other one was ruled out. “There’s no reason to think she isn’t,” she said.

Varric inspected her face for a second, then shrugged. “Okay. It might be a slog for him to go through those records, though. He’s lucky that Leliana’s handwriting is neat, at least. Not like Cassandra’s.”

Tamaris huffed in amusement; the legibility of Cassandra’s handwriting did fluctuate quite a bit. Then she gave Varric a speculative look.

He raised his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

“How often do you and Cassandra write?” she asked.

“I usually hear from her once a week,” Varric said.

 _Once a week?_ she thought. That was a lot. She hadn’t even heard from her clan once a week when she was with the Inquisition. 

Varric narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why do you ask?”

She couldn’t tell him it was because she and Felassan had been gossiping about him and Cassandra. “Just curious,” she said, and she quickly changed the subject. “Hey, do you have an extra copy of _Tale of the Champion_? Felassan wants one so he can read up about Fenris’s tattoos.”

Varric’s face cleared, to Tamaris’s relief. “Sure. I’ll send one over with the Briala stuff later today. But he might be disappointed; there isn’t that much about Fenris’s tattoos in there. He’s a pretty private guy.”

Tamaris nodded. “Fair enough.”

They chatted for a while longer until Felassan brought out their breakfast. The rice porridge was thick and fragrant with green onions and sesame oil, studded through with slices of chicken and served with a savoury sort of fried donut.

And in Tamaris’s bowl only, sitting in pride of place on top of her porridge, was a perfectly poached egg.

Varric quirked an eyebrow as Felassan placed her bowl in front of her. “That looks like favouritism to me.”

“It absolutely is,” Felassan said. He sat beside Tamaris and smiled at her. “Only the most fierce and beautiful person in the room gets a poached egg today.”

Tamaris scoffed, but she could feel her ears and cheeks turning warm. “You’re so fucking full of shit.”

“You really are,” Varric drawled.

Felassan grinned at them. “You wound me, both of you. Now eat up before it gets cold.” He picked up a piece of savoury donut and dipped it into his porridge before taking a bite.

Tamaris used her spoon to carefully break her poached egg, and she watched happily as the golden yolk bled into the porridge. When she glanced up, it was to find Varric smiling at her.

She grinned stupidly at him, then dropped her gaze back to her bowl and started to eat. The porridge was incredibly comforting and the donut was hot and crisp, and the poached egg was the best she’d ever eaten. 

*******************************

After Varric left, Tamaris and Felassan went to train in the library. They sparred for a couple of hours as they usually did, but Tamaris noted that Felassan was quieter than usual, responding to her attempts at levity with smiles and acknowledgments rather than the witty retorts and foolish remarks that she’d grown to expect and enjoy. 

When someone knocked on the door an hour or two before lunchtime, Felassan stopped abruptly and looked up, like a mabari hearing a whistle. Tamaris opened the door to find a very cranky-looking Bran on her doorstep, accompanied by two messengers from the Viscount’s Keep who were carrying chests. 

“From the Viscount of Kirkwall,” Bran announced. He gave her a disdainful look. “Please ensure that all records are refiled in the same order they were found before you return them. Otherwise it will be me who ends up having to refile them, and I have enough on my plate already.” He turned and walked away without waiting for a response, and the messengers trailed after him like ducklings. 

Tamaris rolled her eyes and closed the door, then turned to smirk at Felassan, who had waited out of sight. “That was Bran,” she told him. “You can see why he and Varric get along so…” She trailed off; Felassan was crouching beside the two locked chests, and his face was a picture of focus. 

He looked up at her. “Did he give you a key for these?”

She shook her head. “No, but Varric knows I can pick them. That’s probably the point. Come on, let’s take them to the study.”

They carried the chests to the study, and Tamaris unlocked them with little difficulty. Felassan opened the first chest and sighed with satisfaction. “Ah, look at all of this minutiae. I’m certain I’ll find all sorts of clues in this.” He pulled out a document and studied it, and Tamaris couldn’t quite tell if he was joking from his pleasant tone or his pleasant expression.

It was what he’d asked for, though, so she had to assume it was all right. She took a step back. “Okay, well… let me know if you need anything. I’ll…” She was at a bit of a loss. This was the first time in weeks that she and Felassan weren’t spending the day doing something together, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.

She jerked her thumb at the main room. “I’ll go and clean up the scorched parts of the wall and repaint it.”

He looked up, and his eyebrows twisted with guilt. “You shouldn't do that. I should—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she insisted. “I’ll take care of it. You go ahead with this.” She waved at the chests, then headed into the kitchen to get some soapy water to wash the soot from the fireplace and the wall. By the time she brought the bucket back out to the main room, Felassan was sitting on the floor of the study with papers arranged around him, and he was already taking notes.

His face was creased with a focused frown, and a sudden image entered Tamaris’s mind: a memory of Solas sitting at his desk with tomes and papers scattered across its surface and a distracted frown on his face. 

An odd sinking feeling entered her belly. She turned away and placed her bucket of water on the ground, then started washing the fireplace. 

Felassan spent the day going through the first chest of notes. He moved from the floor to the desk and back to the floor, and he paced around at times while reading the letters, and eventually he started writing things on slips of paper and pinning them on the walls. All the while, Tamaris watched him with an unpleasant feeling of caution. She badly wanted to approach him and ask what he was doing and what he’d found, but the memory of Solas wouldn’t leave her mind.

 _It’s not the same,_ she scolded herself. _They aren’t the same person._ If there was anything she’d learned over the past few weeks, it was that Felassan and Solas were not the same. There was no reason to think that Felassan would look at her with an absent half-smile if she entered the room to try and spend some time with him. She had no good reason to think that half of Felassan’s mind would remain on his work, even if she was sitting in his lap. 

She stood at the threshold of the study watching Felassan work and longing for his company, then went and found something else to do instead.

The day crawled by slowly. Tamaris cleaned the soot from the main room and repainted the scorched wall as best she could, then settled at the dining table and started poring over a stack of old newspapers that Varric had been bringing over, which she’d been willfully neglecting. She took a nap and visited the raven out back, then smoked a joint on the roof and did some cleaning around the rest of the house. By dinnertime, however, Felassan was still working in the study. 

She cautiously peered into the study. It looked like he’d moved on to the second chest of reports, and she noticed that his bottle of ink was half-gone. But he was still reading the letters and taking notes, so she didn’t want to bother him.

She was hungry, though. So she went to the kitchen and made a couple of grilled cheese-and-ham sandwiches, then brought them to the study on a tray with some coffee. When she stepped into the study, Felassan looked up, and Tamaris faltered for a second at the sight of his distracted frown.

Then his expression immediately cleared to its usual warm curl of a smile. “You’ve been hiding from me all day.”

Her shoulders loosened. He sounded genuinely pleased to see her. “You’ve been busy,” she said. She set the tray on the floor and sat cross-legged beside him. “Sorry we skipped lunch, I didn’t think about it. If you were hungry earlier—” 

He slid his hand into her hair and kissed her. His lips were sweet and firm as he coaxed her into the kiss, and when her lips inevitably parted for him, he gently dipped his tongue into her mouth, and she blissfully sank into the slide and heat of his tongue against her own. 

By the time he gently and carefully peeled his lips away from hers, her heart was fluttering madly in her chest. She slowly opened her eyes. “What was that for?” she breathed.

He stroked her neck with his thumb. “To remind you that there’s only one thing in this house that I’m really hungry for.” 

His lips were a mischievous curl, but his eyes were warm and beautiful and focused only on her. He didn’t look even a hint preoccupied or absent, and she was so relieved by his undivided attention that she felt vaguely pathetic.

She awkwardly dropped her gaze. “Um, you should eat your sandwich. Some wisecracking old man often says that food tastes better before it gets cold.” 

He chuckled and picked up the sandwich. “Sounds like an extremely clever old man to me.” He bit the sandwich and raised his eyebrows as he chewed. “This is good.”

She scoffed and bit into her own sandwich. “It’s passable. You could do better.”

“Of course I could,” he said. “But it’s an excellent sandwich for an amateur.”

She elbowed him, and he grinned at her and took another bite. “Would you care to know what I’ve figured out so far?” he said.

She looked at him with some surprise. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve been sitting here all day bursting with all the knowledge I’ve gained and no one to share it with.”

His tone was jocular, but her heart lifted all the same. Had he really been wanting to talk to her all day? 

She quirked a playful eyebrow. “Have you actually gained knowledge, or is your head just full of boring details now?”

“Both, actually,” he said. “Which you would know if you hadn’t been avoiding me.”

She wilted slightly. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t avoiding you,” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows, and Tamaris awkwardly shrugged. “I didn’t mean to avoid you. I just…” She hesitated, then took another little bite of sandwich to stall for time. 

Felassan watched her quietly while she ate, and when her sandwich was half-finished, she forced herself to speak. “Sometimes I wanted to spend time with Solas while he was working in the rotunda. But…” She paused again, feeling increasingly awkward. “He never said I was bothering him when I came to see him. But he was sort of… not really there. He’d be smiling at me, but it was like he wasn’t really seeing me.”

Felassan nodded. His expression was open and serious, and Tamaris sighed and picked at her sandwich. “He wasn’t being unkind or anything. It’s just…” She broke off once more as she tried to describe why Solas’s preoccupation had bothered her so much. After all, it was reasonable to be preoccupied when someone interrupted you in the middle of a task. Dorian, for instance, was notoriously irascible when he was reading, and Tamaris had always found his outbursts more amusing than hurtful. 

So why exactly had it hurt so much for Solas’s eyes to see through her during the times when she’d gone seeking his attention in the rotunda?

As he often did, Felassan spoke her mind. “It was more uncertainty when you were already uncertain of his affections.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Yes,” she said, once again both relieved and embarrassed that he understood. “Yes, that’s…” She wrinkled her nose at him. “How the fuck are you so smart?”

His sober expression was replaced by a smirk. “You don’t survive as long as I have by being an imbecile.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Nobody these days survives as long as you.”

“Sad but true,” he said softly.

She smiled ruefully at him, then sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you. I was just… trying to avoid the absent smile.”

Felassan nodded slowly, then shifted closer to her and leaned into her shoulder. “Well,” he said conspiratorially, “now that you’re here, do you want to hear what I’ve managed to glean from one and a half chests filled with the most fascinating intelligence reports I’ve read in years?”

She enjoyed the snug comfort of his shoulder against hers and took another bite of her sandwich. “Aren’t these the first intelligence reports you’ve read in years?”

“They are, yes,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Do you want to hear my clever deductions or not?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but she couldn’t quell her smile. “I suppose I have no choice, now do I?” 

He chuckled, then launched into an explanation of the chaotic wall of notes, and Tamaris was impressed by what he’d deduced. He’d determined that Briala had been fostering multiple elven spy cells in multiple cities, primarily in Orlais but some in Ferelden as well, and there were hints of her having contacts as far as Antiva and even Rivain. Felassan had determined that Briala had used some Inquisition resources to foster those ties, while obscuring the fact that the Inquisition had been involved. She had also planted a couple of spies in the Inquisition’s ranks, which just made Tamaris laugh.

“Of course she did,” she said dryly. “We had spies from the qunari, from Solas — what’s another faction of spies among friends?”

Felassan grinned at her, then pointed to a letter written by Gaspard. “You and Leliana’s intuition was right; Gaspard did push Briala out. But it started happening earlier than you thought: nine months or so after Corpheus’s defeat, not a year.” He looked at her once more, and his face was businesslike. “I want records of Inquisition activity in the cities where Briala’s main cells were located. I’ll be able to tell if they were working for her still at the time that she was pushed out by Gaspard, or if the cells had turned on her.”

“Wait. Turned on her?” Tamaris gazed at him in surprise. “You think Solas might have had something to do with Briala getting pushed out of power?”

“I don’t doubt it,” Felassan said. “The first step to taking down your prey is to isolate them. The only question is how he did it.”

She frowned, worried by his hunter analogy. “Do you think he really did take her down, then?” she asked.

His expression softened. “It’s a figure of speech. As I continue to pore through this, I should be able to figure out whether that figure of speech became literal.”

She nodded, then gestured at the second half-empty chest. “Can I help you with this?”

“I would dearly like to say yes,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’ll be more of a distraction than a help.”

His eyebrows were quirked suggestively, and Tamaris scoffed, but with genuine amusement and none of this morning’s unease. “Okay, I see how it is. I’ll go entertain myself some more.” She started gathering the dirty dishes, but Felassan reached out and took her hand.

“Tamaris,” he said quietly. “If you want my attention, you have only to ask.”

Her heart flipped at the tenderness in his gaze. It was a good thing he didn’t want her help; she could barely think when he was looking at her like this. 

She took a deep breath, then told him what she should have said this morning. “I do want your attention,” she said. 

A slow smile lit his face, but Tamaris jerked her chin at the chest of reports. “I think you should finish this first, though.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. _Be bold,_ she told herself. 

“Because… because I want a _lot_ of attention,” she said.

His beautiful violet eyes flared with interest, and his smile widened. He tugged on her hand until she was kneeling beside him once more. “Say what you really mean, _avise._ You’re hungry for me too, aren’t you?”

He was leaning toward her now, crowding her with his larger body even though they were sitting in an open space on the floor, and Tamaris’s pulse ratcheted up at how close he was. “You don’t have to be so smug about it,” she said weakly. 

He brushed his thumb over her chin. “Not smug. Just… happy.”

The pad of his thumb was so close to the edge of her mouth, and she was lit with a sudden wish for him to brush his thumb over her lips. For him to coax her mouth open and lick her tongue in that slow and sinuous way he had, then to ease her mouth open even wider so she could lick something else entirely… 

Her breath hitched, and he chuckled – a soft and knowing little sound. Then he lowered his hand from her face. “All right. Let me finish with this, and my _attention_ will be all yours.”

His voice was low and smooth and delightfully suggestive, and it sent a pulse of want straight to her groin. “Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll wash these dishes and, um, I’ll be upstairs.”

He nodded, and Tamaris felt his heated gaze on her back as she left the room. She washed the dishes quickly, and while she did, she tried to figure out what she could do to distract herself until Felassan was finished with his reports. 

She finally decided on writing some long-overdue letters to Inquisition friends and to her clan. As she gathered the letter-writing supplies, however, she couldn’t help but hope she wouldn’t have time to finish them all before Felassan joined her, because she didn’t really want to write letters right now. 

Right now, with the buzz of desire in her blood and the heated thought of Felassan’s suggestive eyes at the front of her mind, all she really wanted was more of his attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I'M SORRY I DID THE SEX-CLIFFHANGER THING AGAIN, I'M SORRY. BUT I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU GUYS NEXT CHAPTER. (Spoiler alert, but you guys knew what's up. 😂)
> 
> Also: with this chapter, we crack 100k words! THANK YOU ALL for sticking with this fic. I never imagined it would be so long, but I am grateful to have you guys on this journey with me! 
> 
> You can [find me here on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy! xo


	19. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW smut! And GORGEOUS STUNNING ART by [Schoute!](https://schoute.tumblr.com/)

Tamaris plopped down on her bed and started setting up to write her letters. She was still dearly hoping that Felassan would join her sooner than later, but she had to find some way to occupy her mind until he was finished with his task, or she’d drive herself crazy. 

She placed a piece of parchment on the large tome she’d brought upstairs to use as a writing surface. She’d written to Cassandra already a few days ago, so Cassandra didn’t need another update yet. She’d write to Thom instead and leave it to Varric’s ravens to figure out where he might be now, and then she’d write to Bull and to Istimaethoriel and the clan. 

She opened her bottle of ink and dipped a quill in it, but before she could start writing, she remembered that she’d meant to call Dorian to apologize for storming off to the roof the last time he’d called. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. She put the ink and quill on the bedside table, then went over to the dresser and grabbed the sending crystal.

She rubbed her thumb over the surface, and the crystal pulsed with a gentle purple light as she waited for him to answer. A few seconds later, Dorian’s voice floated up from the crystal’s face.

“Well well, if it isn’t Tamaris of Clan Lavellan,” he drawled. “Thedas’s most unmannerly ex-Inquisitor—”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, do you want me to apologize or not?”

“Oh, excellent,” he said brightly. “Let me just fetch a glass of wine.”

She _tsk_ ed. “I’m sorry, all right? I…” She sighed. “Things kind of hit a sore point, but I shouldn’t have just left you hanging. I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” Dorian said.

She sighed again. “And I should’ve called sooner to apologize for leaving you hanging. Okay? Are you finished pouting now?”

Dorian chuckled. “I suppose it’ll do. Your apologies are always so charmingly rude.”

She scoffed at this. “You sound like Felassan.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Dorian said. “How is he?”

“Why?” Tamaris said pointedly. “Eager to hear from your new best friend, are you?”

Dorian laughed. “That must mean the sending crystals arrived. I hope they’re of use to him. And no, Tamaris, giving sending crystals to Felassan does not mean I love you any less.”

She grunted, then relented. “Seriously though, thank you for sending those to him. He’s really pleased about it. He… I think he might have found a use for them.”

“Oh?” Dorian said curiously.

Tamaris got up from her bed and went to close the door before replying. “I just told him yesterday that Solas took the eluvians from Briala,” she admitted. “I think he’s got an idea to help her relating to your crystals being precursors to eluvians, but I don’t really know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Dorian said.

“He’s busy with something else right now,” she said.

“Well, tell him I’d like to know what he comes up with,” Dorian said. “It would be nice to hear about a project that’s magical in nature instead of political.”

“I bet,” she said sympathetically. Then she realized she hadn’t asked him about the political situation in Tevinter the last time they’d talked. “Fuck, I should’ve asked. How are you and Maevaris doing there? The Lucerni are shaping up?”

“Oh, they’re doing very well,” Dorian said airily. “Learning their manners, using their knives and forks in the correct hands and all. I’m far more interested in hearing more from you.”

“About what?”

“About Felassan,” Dorian said, in a tone that clearly translated to _‘obviously’_. “Now that we’re chatting on our own, I’d appreciate some more details.”

“I thought I never gave any interesting details,” she said snidely.

“It’s not too late to start.”

She scoffed and didn’t speak, but in truth, she wasn’t sure where she’d even begin to explain to Dorian about Felassan. Would it even make sense to him to describe how much Felassan mattered to her when she’d only known him for a few weeks?

Dorian spoke again, and his tone was softer. “I quite like him, you know. That was a rather telling conversation to be a part of.”

“How so?” she asked.

“He has many sides,” Dorian said. “That issue with the Dalish clan…” He paused for a moment, and his voice carried no levity when he spoke again. “That was undeniably chilling. I understand why you were angry.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. 

“And yet…” Dorian paused again, and Tamaris could easily picture him stroking his mustache in thought. “You’ve been in the house together for how long now?”

“Just about a month,” she said.

“Hm,” Dorian said pensively.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?” 

“It’s… interesting,” Dorian said slowly. “Such a short time… but I think he knows you better than Solas did. Possibly better than I do.”

Her gut jolted at this. “What do you mean?”

“When you got angry and left our conversation, Varric and I counselled Felassan to let you have some time alone,” Dorian said. “We told him you prefer to work through it on your own when something bothers you. He refused. He said he wasn’t going to let you sit alone with this because… ah, what were the words he used? Something like the brightest flames deserving a gentle hand to stoke them so they don’t burn themselves out. Something like that.”

She stared at the crystal with a ringing of disbelief in her head. Felassan had said that to Dorian and Varric? The brightest flames deserving a gentle hand… He’d said that about her? It certainly sounded like something he’d say. But to say something that tender about her to her friends — to Dorian, whom he didn’t even know… 

She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. Then Dorian spoke again, and his voice was a little bit tentative. “It… made me think, actually. That perhaps we were… remiss by not pushing you harder to talk to us after everything happened.”

She cleared her throat. “No, it’s… it’s not your fault,” she said gruffly. “I was…” Gods, she’d been so angry for so long, and she’d become inaccessible in so many ways. It was only now with Felassan’s gentle hands building her up that she could see how much she’d shut herself away. 

“I was fucked up, Dorian,” she said. “I wasn’t letting anyone in. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” Dorian said, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows at the vehemence in his tone. “I stopped trying,” he said. “I… I think perhaps we were… scared of your intensity. You can be quite terrifying, you know.”

She huffed despite the lump in her throat. “Thanks, I guess.”

He chuckled, but his tone was somber when he spoke again. “We gave up trying to… to bring you out of your shell. And for that, I am truly sorry. And I am very glad that Felassan seems to have found a way through your shell.” His voice warmed with humour once more. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? I might have a bit of a crush. That voice of his is like a golden trap.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh. “Yeah. He caught _me_ pretty fucking thoroughly.”

The playful words left her mouth and hung in the air between herself and Dorian, like a spritz of perfume that neither of them had expected. 

“And she shares details after all,” Dorian said gently. “I knew you had it in you.”

She didn’t reply. She just sat frozen on her bed as her own words rolled through her mind: _he caught me thoroughly._ All of a sudden, it was like something inside of her had crumbled, breaking apart in her chest and showing what she’d been so reluctant to see all this time. 

She could see it now though, in complete crystal clarity, almost like looking through an eluvian’s activated depths: how special Felassan was, how important he was, the possessiveness she felt for him. The desire that continued to ripen between them every day, and the laughter they shared over the stupidest jokes and teases. 

Felassan was everything she’d been terrified of letting in for the past few years, and without quite meaning to, she’d summarized her feelings for him in just a few unfiltered words to Dorian: _he caught me thoroughly._ She’d tried to hide from Felassan and she’d tried to run, and she’d tried to keep him away from her most damaged parts like she’d done to everyone else. And still he’d caught her — not because he was a trap like Dorian’s joke suggested, but because he was wide open.

Felassan was a warm and open smile and wide-open arms. Tamaris had stumbled clumsily toward those wide-open arms, and Felassan had caught her. 

Dorian’s voice jolted her from her jittery reverie. “Are you still there?” 

“Yeah,” she said huskily. “I’m… I’m still here.”

“Do you have to go?” he said.

His voice was warm and understanding, and she could easily picture the curl of his smile beneath his mustache. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll, um… I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“There’s no rush,” Dorian said. “I’m very busy and important, so I might not have time for you for a while.” 

She huffed in amusement, and Dorian chuckled. “Goodnight, Tamaris.”

“Goodnight,” she said. “And… thanks, _lethallin_.”

“You’re welcome, my friend,” he said. Then the sending crystal went dim.

Tamaris set it gently on the bedside table. She picked up the quill and ink, then just sat there on her bed holding them and not doing anything. 

_He caught me,_ she thought. It still stunned her how aptly the words described her feelings for Felassan. When they’d first met, she’d been stuck in a sort of freefall of bitterness and self-isolation, barely veiled by the alcohol she’d taken to drinking every night. But Felassan tolerated her moods and her snappishness, and he’d made her laugh and helped her quit the booze. And more quickly than she’d ever imagined possible, she’d slipped into a different sort of freefall altogether – one that was more tempting and terrifying than any bottle of liquor could ever be. 

She’d started falling for Felassan. And no matter how much she resisted it, no matter how much she tried to keep him at bay and to shield her unhealed wounds from him, he’d stood there patiently with his cheeky jokes and his warm amethyst eyes and his wide-open arms. 

Tamaris had fallen for Felassan, and with his infinite patience and care, he had caught her. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the bed holding her ink and quill and thinking about him. But when he finally knocked on her bedroom door, she hadn’t written a single word.

As always, he stepped into her room without waiting for a response. His face was wreathed in a cheeky smile, and her blood thrilled at the sight of him, but she forced herself to give him the annoyed look that she knew he expected.

“Why do you bother knocking when you’re just going to walk right in anyway?” she asked.

“Because I have excellent manners,” he said. “Knocking is polite.”

“Walking right in is rude,” she pointed out.

“My manners are selective,” he said airily. “Sometimes a little rudeness is exactly what’s called for.” He sauntered over to the bed and gestured at it. “May I?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Since when do you ask for permission to lie on my bed?”

“Since the bed is already occupied,” he said. He eyed the blank parchment that was scattered on the bed. “You got far with your letter-writing, I see.”

His smile was teasing, and Tamaris desperately would have liked to make a clever retort, but the conversation with Dorian was still too fresh and thrilling in her mind. “I was talking to Dorian,” she said, and she started clearing her belongings from the bed to make space for him.

“Ah,” Felassan said. “How is my new best friend?” He lay down beside her and tucked his arms behind his head.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The two of you are ridiculous. Fucking thick as thieves after one single conversation.”

He smirked. “What can I say? It was a good conversation.”

“So I heard,” Tamaris said.

He looked at her. “Did you, now?”

She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Um, yeah.”

“What did you hear?” he said.

His tone was light and casual, but his face was warm and expectant and _open_ , and… gods, Tamaris had fallen hard for him, and she couldn’t believe she’d resisted for so long.

She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then, carefully, she shifted closer to him and straddled his hips.

His lips curled in a tiny smile, but his soft and expectant eyes never left her face. Tamaris swallowed hard, and without looking away from his precious handsome face, she peeled her sleeveless tunic over her head. 

She cast her tunic to the floor, then dropped her gaze to her hands as she unbuttoned the front clasps of her bra. She dropped her bra on the floor, then deftly unstrapped her left arm and placed it on the floor as well. And only then, when she was bared to Felassan’s gaze from the waist up, did she met his eye again. 

He was watching her intensely. His eyes were wide and hungry as they tracked over her breasts and the planes of her bare belly, and she could feel the hardening of his cock beneath her as his greedy gaze took her in. But his arms were still folded behind his head, and he was making no move to touch her. 

When his eyes finally returned to her face, her heart thumped. His eyes were glowing faintly, lit warmly from within by magic and desire. But what really stole her breath was the tenderness in his face.

A pang of nerves shot through her belly. It was a good pang, though — a pang that reminded her in no uncertain terms that she was not alone in this. She was not alone in the roiling storm of desire between them, desire that was thickened and deepened by the obvious emotion that they both shared. 

But Felassan lay quiet and still with his arms tucked behind his head. As the seconds ticked by and her heart thudded in her ears, she realized what he was waiting for — what he’d been waiting for this morning, and what he’d been waiting for all along, ever since the morning after their first time. 

He was waiting for _her_. He was waiting for her to act, to speak – to tell him in no uncertain terms that this was what she wanted. 

Tamaris took a deep breath. And finally, after weeks of keeping the words trapped at the back of her tongue, she let them loose.

“I want you,” she said. 

A beautiful smile lit his face, but his words were serious. “Are you sure?”

Tamaris rested her right hand on his abs and tilted her hips forward. She rubbed herself slowly against the bulge between his legs, and his smile slipped into a look of want. 

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I want you, Felassan. I’m ready.”

He exhaled slowly and smiled once more. “Good,” he said softly. Then, finally, he reached for her with one hand.

Her breath hitched as his fingers approached her. He placed his palm flat on her body, his fingers brushing her sternum as his thumb traced the underside of her breast, and Tamaris stopped breathing. 

Slowly and delicately, he trailed his fingers down her sternum toward her navel, and a bloom of heated anticipation burst to life between her legs at the nearness of his fingers to her groin. But his hand was slowly moving back up, his palm breezing very gently over her skin, and then he was trailing his fingertips beneath her breasts, stroking the curves of her body as though he was storing their shape in his fingertips for later.

Tamaris arched helplessly toward his teasing hand. He continued his slow and careful perusal of her skin, skimming his knuckles over the taut planes of her belly and brushing his fingers over her collarbones, and all the while he was avoiding her nipples, brushing his thumb and his knuckles around them but never over their hardened little peaks.

Within the space of a minute, Tamaris was panting and rocking her hips, and the buzzing of unfulfilled desire in her nipples was almost more than she could bear. When Felassan lowered his hand from her chest, she arched her spine and moaned.

“Please,” she begged. “Felassan, touch me!”

A smile lit his face. He carefully sat up on his elbows, then pushed himself upright without shifting her off of his lap, and Tamaris grabbed his shoulder for balance; they were face-to-face now, and his one arm was encircling her waist. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, and her excitement ratcheted up as she anticipated his kiss–

“Lean back,” he murmured against her lips. “Let me touch you.”

She immediately leaned back, keeping her one hand on his shoulder for support. Then Felassan dipped his head low and licked her nipple. 

A bolt of lust shot through her body straight down to her groin. She gasped and arched toward his mouth, but he kept his touch teasing and light, running his tongue over her nipple with smooth long strokes before pulling _very_ lightly at the peak with his lips. 

Tamaris twisted desperately on his lap, but his arm was too tight around her waist, and Felassan didn’t relent; he continued to torture her nipple with little flicks of the tongue and tugs of his lips, and when he moved on to treat her other nipple with the same glorious and terrible attention, she actually sobbed. 

“You fucking tease,” she whined.

He lifted his mouth and grinned. “I’m not teasing. I’m simply savouring. The memory of your nipples in my mouth has been keeping me up at night for weeks.” 

“So suck on them already!” she burst out.

He laughed wickedly. “Why would I do that when I could have you squirming on my lap like this?” He dropped his head once more and brushed his cheek over the peak of her breast, and she let out a strained little moan.

“Felassan…” She tried to tilt her hips down to press against the bulge of his cock. Maybe if she riled him up, she could goad him into touching her more firmly. But as she twisted in the muscular grip of his arm, she realized something: he was holding her in such a way that she couldn’t rub herself against him.

“Why are you torturing me like this?” she demanded.

“Because I know you like it,” he replied.

She let out a breathy laugh. “You are such a smug asshole.”

“And you burn much more brightly when I stoke you in just the right way,” he murmured.

She darted a look at him, and her heart squeezed. Despite the salacious undertone of his words, his eyes were tender and warm.

In this moment, she realized that he knew what she and Dorian had been talking about. Felassan knew that Dorian had told her what he’d said after she’d walked away. 

But he didn’t know all of it. He didn’t know what she had told to Dorian in turn: that she had fallen hard for Felassan, and that she was so incredibly grateful to be caught.

She clasped his neck in her hand and kissed him. His lips parted for her, and she nipped his lips and stroked his tongue with hers as passionately as she could in the desperate hope that her kiss would tell him what she wanted him to know, but still wasn’t quite brave enough to say.

She gently suckled his lower lip, and he let out the most beautiful growly groan. Then his hand was curving along the side of her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair, and when he pulled her head back to kiss her throat, she mewled and twisted her hips again, to no avail. 

“Felassan, please,” she whined. He was leaving a trail of tiny open-mouthed kisses along the taut line of her neck and down, and the closer his lips got to her breast, the more she became convinced that she was going to explode before he even _really_ touched her. 

He hummed against her collarbone, then suddenly took her nipple in his mouth and suckled hard, and she cried out in surprise and clasped his neck to hold him close. He pulled her nipple deeply into his mouth like he was trying to draw all of the pleasure in her body toward the perfect hard pressure of his lips, and just when Tamaris was starting to feel some relief, he released her. 

She dug her nails into his neck. “Felassan, just – fuck me!” she blurted.

He burst out a little laugh, then suddenly rolled her over. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on her back beneath him. 

He placed a tiny teasing kiss on her breast. “You’re so impatient. But I’m not sure you’re ready.”

She laughed giddily and lifted her hips toward him. “This again? You’re so fucking mean.”

He tutted and rolled her nipple between his fingers. “Don’t slander me. I’m not mean; I’m extremely nice. In fact, I am so nice that I shall check to make sure you’re ready for me.” He sat back on his knees and started unlacing her breeches, and she panted and twisted her hips restlessly until her breeches were undone. By the time his deft fingers were finally pulling her breeches and smallclothes down, her smalls were so wet that they clung to her for a moment before finally peeling away.

Felassan let out a slow and breathy groan, then reached down and ran his palm over his bulging groin. Satisfied by his reaction, Tamaris lifted her hips and spread her legs. “Does that mean I’m ready?” she asked cheekily. 

He lifted his eyes to her face, and another bolt of excitement coursed through her blood: his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were aglow. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I need a closer look. Maybe a taste.”

She burst out a breathy laugh. “You’re so full of– oh gods!” His head was between her legs, and she arched and clenched her fingers in the sheets: Felassan was devouring her, his mouth moving between her legs in a ravenous rhythm of open-mouthed kisses and long hungry laps of his tongue, and for a moment she just lay there gasping for breath, stunned by the torrid heat of his lips and tongue as he drank in the evidence of desire that he’d fostered between her legs. He clasped her thighs and held her wide as he kissed her sex, and it really felt like he was tasting her, like he was taking the time to feast on every fold of her flesh and every drop of slippery nectar that heralded her desperate want. 

Then his attention honed onto her clit. His ravenous mouth became gentle and slow – _oh fuck,_ so gentle and slow: he was doing nothing more now than brushing his lower lip over her swollen clit, and it felt so fucking good and so fucking _torturous_ that she lifted her head to stare pleadingly at him.

A pulse of excitement made her lightheaded: he was looking at her, too. His beautiful amethyst eyes were glowing and his cheeks and ears were flushed, and he was looking directly at her face while he caressed her clit with his lower lip.

A hint of a smile curled the corner of his mouth. Without breaking her gaze, Felassan ran his tongue over her clit, and she gasped and stared breathlessly into his eyes, stunned by desire and by the sheer intimacy of this act. Having him watching her while he feasted on her, knowing that she was watching _him_ … There was something so intimate about it, almost more intimate than the act itself, and as he licked her and kissed her and brought her toward her peak while gazing into her eyes, she knew that the pounding of her heart was more than just sheer lust. 

She stared at him, lightheaded with pleasure and want and the fervency of her own affection. He gazed steadily at her in turn, his eyes glittering with magic and with carnal intent, and only when her climax suddenly burst did she break from his hypnotic gaze.

She slammed her head back into the pillows and let out a visceral cry. Felassan was still licking her clit, lavishing the sensitive bud with gentle little laps while his palms smoothed along the insides of her thighs, and when Tamaris’s scintillating climax ebbed away, he finally lifted his mouth from between her legs. 

He wiped his mouth on her belly, then shifted up higher on the bed to lounge beside her, but his hand was still drifting over her inner thigh. “Did you enjoy that, _avise?_ ” he murmured. 

She nodded, feeling too good and too spent to talk, and Felassan smirked. “Yes? You liked watching me while I slid my tongue over that tight little nub between your legs?”

A fresh shiver of lust pulsed between legs. “Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he curved his fingers against the sensitive folds of her sex. “Did you enjoy staring at me while I made you come all over my tongue?” he asked.

His tone was innocent, but his voice was so fucking smooth, and his fingers lying still against her body were sheer torture. She gasped and bucked her hips toward his hand. “Fuck’s sake, Felassan, yes!”

He angled his wrist and slid two fingers inside of her, and she cried out and arched her back. Then Felassan pressed his lips to her ear. “ _Ar em hartha al emathast’sulahn mar asreun’en bellanaris,_ ” he purred. 

_Oh fuck,_ she thought deliriously. This was what he’d been threatening for weeks, the words in his own native tongue–

He curled his fingers inside of her. She mewled and grabbed his shirt, and he spoke into her ear again. “ _Ir silras ahnsul al palash’odhe mar blardhea_.” 

“Felassan,” she whined. She didn’t know what he was saying, but — but fuck it, he was right: there was something about the rhythm of his words, the tone and liquid lilt of his accent shaped around the ancient Elvhen words, and it was doing something wonderful to her, even though she couldn’t discern his meaning. 

He slid his fingers inside of her in a slow and careful thrust. “ _Ir’emah diana’ma sule ma tela odhea i’tel em_ ,” he murmured, and Tamaris sobbed and twisted helplessly beneath him. His fingers were swirling inside of her, and as Felassan continued to whisper in her ear, it felt like his words were swirling inside of her as well. His fluid Elvhen words were finding something hidden in her blood and bringing it to life, making her feel more alive and in tune with the feeling of his fingers curling inside of her and striking the perfect place of pleasure inside of her body–

She came suddenly, to her own surprise, and she was so taken aback by the suddenness of her climax that she couldn’t even cry out. She couldn’t breathe or say a word; all she could do was lie arching and splayed on her bed as the pleasure of his fingers and his words spanned and pulsed through her entire body from her scalp all the way to the tips of her toes. 

When she could finally breathe again, all she could manage was the faintest moan. Felassan chuckled, then lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

For some reason, his voice was curled with humour. She took a deep breath, then spoke on a moan. “Does what hurt?” 

“Your chest,” he said. 

_My chest?_ she thought in confusion. She opened her eyes and looked down at her chest, and her eyebrows leapt up.

There were long red marks across her chest – scoremarks from her own nails. She’d scratched herself in the throes of her rapture, and she hadn’t even noticed. 

“Oh shit,” she said. She burst out a breathy laugh, then groaned and stretched languidly on the bed. “I didn’t even feel that.”

“Too busy feeling other things?” Felassan said slyly.

She admired his gorgeous cheeky grin, then rolled toward him and pushed him onto his back. “Get naked,” she said. 

He _tsk_ ed. “There you go, commanding me again.” He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, then started unlacing his breeches, and Tamaris watched avidly the laces came undone. 

He lifted his hips and started pushing down his breeches, and she was amused to note once again that he was wearing no underwear. “All right,” he said playfully. “Are you satisfi–”

She surged toward him and kissed him, cutting off his playful words, and then she was straddling him and clutching his shoulder for support while she rubbed her slick cleft along the length of his cock.

He moaned loudly into her mouth and grabbed her shoulder blades, and Tamaris greedily swallowed the sound of his pleasure as she curled her hips toward him. He was so gorgeously hard and smooth, and his fingers were sliding firmly from her shoulder blades down her back as though he was savouring her skin beneath his fingers. She rocked against him, spreading her slickness along the length of his cock, and he broke from their kiss with a gasp.

“ _Tamaris,_ ” he moaned. He grabbed her hips and tried to lift her, but she tensed her thighs and went still.

Felassan’s eyes darted to her face. “Is something wrong?” he panted. 

She twisted her lips wryly. “I just don’t think you’re ready.”

He stared at her for a second. Then a wicked smile burst across his face. “Oh, _avise,_ ” he said, and he laughed. “You can’t withhold from me.”

“I’m not withholding,” she said innocently. “I really don’t think you’re ready. I’d better take a closer look.” She slid off of his lap and shuffled down between his legs, then braced her weight on her shortened left arm and brushed her lips over the head of his cock.

He grunted with pleasure and lifted his hips, and Tamaris purposely lifted her head to look at him. “I want to know what you said to me in Elvhen,” she said.

“I said a lot of things to you in Elvhen,” he replied. His smile was cheeky but the light in his eyes was an urgent glow, and Tamaris admired the obvious lust in his face before lowering her head toward his cock.

Felassan jerked his hips, and she lifted her head once more without touching him with her mouth. “Tell me some of the things you said,” she demanded.

He exhaled shakily and smiled. “Whatever happened to enjoying a little mystery?”

She took his cock in her mouth and all way down her throat, and the sound he made… gods, it was guttural and animalistic and full of desire, and it was almost enough to make her give up the teasing act and fuck him. 

With an immense effort of will, she resisted. She slowly released his cock, then sat back on her heels. “Tell me, Felassan,” she said, and she placed her hand on his thigh, teasingly close to his cock. 

His eyes glittered with heat as they focused on her hand. “So cruelly insistent. One thing I said was this: ‘I could listen to the symphony of your orgasms forever.’”

A ripple of want burned down her throat toward her belly. She took his cock in her fist and pumped him once, and he leaned his head back with another gorgeous groan.

“Tamaris…” he breathed.

She stroked his length once more, then released him. “What else did you say?”

He lifted his head to look at her with his luminous eyes. “I also said this: ‘I am drunk on the perfume of your pussy.’”

_Oh fuck,_ she thought feverishly. She crawled back up his body to straddle his hips and rubbed her slick heat against the length of his cock. “What else did you say?” she panted.

He moaned and squeezed her hip. “Tamaris, I need you…”

“Is that something you said?”

“It is something I’m saying now,” he said sharply.

She smiled at his snappish tone, then leaned in and brushed her lips over the tip of his ear. “Tell me something else you said,” she whispered.

He suddenly wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her head to the side, and she cried out with pleasure at the sudden pull. He lifted his hips to rub against her pussy and dragged his tongue along the side of her neck, and by the time his lips were at her ear, she was practically sobbing with want.

“‘I’m going to fill you up until you can’t breathe without me’,” he growled. “That is something else I said. Can I do as I promised now, or have you not had enough of provoking me?”

“Yes!” she gasped.

He nipped her neck. “Yes to what?” he demanded.

“Yes, I want you to fill me up!” she cried.

He smiled against her ear. “That’s all you had to say,” he purred. He released her hair and lifted her hips, then started slowly lowering her onto his cock.

She mewled and dug her nails into Felassan’s shoulder, and he burst out a guttural breath. “ _Ar iselana mana per ma_...” he moaned. 

She panted for breath and didn’t reply, and he continued to fill her up inch by blissful inch. When she was fully seated on his cock, they exhaled together in a groan at the _completeness_ of their melding bodies. 

He slid his palms from her thighs up to her hips, and Tamaris wrapped her arm around his neck. In tandem, they began moving together in a languid rolling rhythm. 

Tamaris slowly curled her hips to meet him and pressed her forehead to his. “What did you just say?” she breathed. 

He let out a breathy groan and stroked her back. “I said… I said that I have waited so long for you.”

She went still for a moment, and Felassan cradled her neck. “And I would have continued to wait,” he murmured. “I told you before, _avise._ Some things are worth waiting for.”

She stared wordlessly into his steady violet eyes. A bloom of emotion burst in her chest and spread through her rib cage, rising up through her throat and pressing at the back of her eyes, and when Felassan’s expression grew tender, she knew that he could see it too. 

She kissed him and flexed her hips to take him deep. He slid his arms around her, and then he was hugging her tightly as he filled her with his cock, and as Tamaris suckled his tongue and breathed against his lips, she _wished_ she had two whole arms if only to hold him just as tightly as he was holding her. 

She hugged him with her right arm and rested her stunted left arm on his shoulder. Without breaking the rolling grind of their hips or breaking from her kiss, Felassan reached up and stroked her shortened arm, smoothing his hand firmly from her shoulder down to the stump and back, and the bloom of affection in her chest only seemed to swell more hotly than before. 

She kissed him hard, then broke from his lips to breathe against his cheek. “Move me how you want me,” she whispered. He’d pleased her so much already, with his mouth and his hands and his filthy Elvhen words, and the slow thrust of his cock was pleasing her all the more, and all she wanted was to make him feel just as good. 

He squeezed her shortened left arm, then slid his arms around her once more. “This is how I want you,” he told her. “A slow-burning flame for this slow arrow.” 

She smiled against his cheek. “That’s a lot of words to say – _ah_ — that you like what I’m doing already.” 

His pleasured groan drifted across her ear, followed by his husky voice. “I know how much you like my words. And I am very good with them. Did you know that I was once a very good spy–”

“Shut up,” she laughed breathily, and she took his lips in another kiss. She cradled his neck and rolled against his lap in a slow and steady grind, and Felassan licked her tongue and stroked her back and lifted his hips to meet her, and despite the distracting bliss of his body meeting with hers, Tamaris was careful to note when his hips became more jerky and his kisses more firm.

He broke from her lips with a breathy grunt, and Tamaris’s excitement flared anew; his eyes were glowing once more, glittering with the kind of hot luminance that meant his control was starting to slip. She lifted her hips and came down more firmly on his cock, and he jolted and grabbed her hip. 

“ _Ah,_ ” he gasped. “That — Tamaris–”

He didn’t need to say anything more; without any further cueing, Tamaris began to fuck him in a hard and rapid rise-and-fall. 

She clasped his neck and gazed into his eyes. He was staring at her too, his eyes glazed and feverish with need, and as Tamaris continued to lift and lower herself on the slick length of his cock, his face began to twist with the most beautiful expression of longing.

“Tamaris,” he begged. 

“I know,” she breathed. She kissed him once more, then turned his head to the side and nipped his neck. 

He gasped out the most beautiful pleasured sound, and she _felt_ his cock jerking inside of her. She kissed and licked his neck, then started sucking on his skin with just enough pressure to hurt. His breathing grew erratic beside her ear and his cock became even harder, striking even deeper inside of her body, and Tamaris whimpered and bit his neck.

He dug his nails into her shoulder blade and cried out in climax, and Tamaris hugged him with her right arm as he groaned and panted and shuddered ecstatically beneath her. She continued to roll against him, taking his thickness into her body and savouring his length as he filled her up, and when his shuddering stilled and his fingers went lax against her back, she finally went still on his lap.

She brushed her lips over his temple, then down to his jaw. He sighed languidly and leaned his head to the side, and Tamaris happily took advantage of the angle to nuzzle the side of his neck.

She kissed and licked his neck, and he let out another lazy sigh and ran his hand over her curly hair. “Are you hungry? I can make you something. You don’t need to feed on the salt from my skin.” 

She lifted her lips. “I thought you liked it when I suck on your neck.”

“I love it when you suck on my neck,” he said.

She stroked his cheek, then brushed her lips over his ear. “Then stop complaining,” she whispered.

He laughed – that perfect, lilting roll of a laugh — then lifted her off of his lap and settled her on the bed so they were lying face-to-face. “Abrasive and tender in a single breath,” he said. “What a quixotic marvel you are.”

His palm was moving in a slow and lazy stroke along the side of her hip. She smiled goofily at him, but she couldn’t help but compare their current pose to the way they’d fallen asleep last night. They’d been lying face-to-face like this last night, and Felassan had been gazing at her in this soft and tender way. But this moment now was so much better than last night. Now, his face wasn’t tinted with sadness and ravaged with tears. Now, their skin was completely bare and dappled with the shared dampness of each other’s sweat and sex. 

Now, Tamaris could finally admit to herself that she had fallen in love with Felassan. 

“What’s on your mind?” he murmured.

_I love you,_ she thought. But she still couldn’t tell him yet. The admission was still too fresh in her mind, too new and too tender to release into the air, and despite the unmitigated depth of her feelings, she wasn’t quite ready to tell him yet. 

“I think I am hungry after all,” she said. “Can you bring me a snack?”

He smiled slowly at her, then pulled her against his body. “I take back that offer,” he grumbled. “You’re getting far too pampered.” 

“Spoilsport,” she said. Then she squealed when his fingers crept teasingly over her ribs.

“Don’t tickle!” she gasped, but he didn’t give in, and soon she was helpless with laughter beneath him. 

She grabbed his hand to stop him. “Okay,” she wheezed. “Okay, okay, I don’t need a snack.” 

He lifted his hand to cradle her neck. “That’s a relief,” he said. “Because I’m not willing to leave this bed anytime soon.” 

She gazed happily into his perfect violet eyes, then tilted her chin up for a kiss. _I’ll tell him soon,_ she thought. Soon, she would find the courage to tell him that she loved him. 

But for now, she would linger in the heat of his sweat-laced skin, and she would enjoy the precious feeling of being caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe only one chapter next week. I'M SORRY!! We'll see what I get done this weekend though... 😏
> 
> Elvhen phrases repeated here, if you wanted to see them again. All were composed from [FenxShiral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true) as best as I could, though I had to invent some words from scratch and make portmanteaus for others.  
> \- _Ar em hartha al emathast’sulahn mar asreun’en bellanaris_ : I could listen to the symphony of your orgasms forever.  
> \- _Ir silras ahnsul al palash’odhe mar blardhea_ : I’m drunk on the perfume of your pussy.  
> - _Ir’emah diana’ma sule ma tela odhea i’tel em_ : I’m going to fill you up until you can’t breathe without me.  
> \- _Ar iselana mana per ma_ : I’ve waited so long for you.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr:](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) a humble servant to all of you. xoxo


	20. Starve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next phase of the fic, in which I self-indulgently let the babes get their fuck on whenever I feel like it. Sorrynotsorry, but you all know what you signed up for. Needless to say, this chapter contains smut. 
> 
> DIVINE art is by my heart and soul Schoute!! xoxoxo
> 
> CW: very brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Tamaris gazed at Felassan in a happy haze. They were lying face-to-face in her rumpled bed with the sheets twisted around their legs, and his fingertips were tracing a slow and careful path from her waist over the curve of her hip to her knee, then back up to her waist. 

She admired the softness of his faintly-smiling lips and the dark curves of his eyelashes. Then his lovely violet eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile. 

He lifted his hand and ran his fingers through her tangled curls. “You’re staring, _avise._ Maybe you should paint a picture. It’ll last longer.”

 _Brat,_ she thought fondly. Trust him to use her own snarky comment against her. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You’ve been asking me for things all night,” he said slyly. “Why stop now?”

She smirked. He wasn’t wrong. They’d spent the entire night twisted together in her bed, teasing each other both verbally and physically. When they’d begun to exhaust each other into dozing off, Tamaris had risen to get their nightly Fade-blocking tea, but by that time, it was late enough — or early enough, really — that birds were singing outside the window to herald the incoming dawn.

They’d drunk their tea and curled up together to sleep. As Tamaris’s weighted eyelids drifted shut, her last waking thought was one of relief: relief that she was comfortable with Felassan falling asleep in her bed, and that _she_ was comfortable falling asleep wrapped in his arms.

It was close to noon now, and they’d only just awoken. Despite her rumbling stomach, Tamaris was very reluctant to get up. Being curled in bed with Felassan was so nice, and so… surreal somehow, like living inside of a dearly-held fantasy. She’d been mentally tiptoeing around this fantasy for weeks, growing accustomed to the idea of baring herself to him in more ways than one, and the way she felt right now — sleepy and loose and soporific with the love she was still too shy to admit: this feeling was perfect and idyllic, and she didn’t want to break that idyll by rising from this bed. 

Thankfully, Felassan didn’t seem in any rush to rise, either. He looked as languid and satisfied as she felt, and she savoured the feeling of his fingers sifting slowly through her hair as she replied. “I mean that I have a question,” she said.

“Ask away,” he said easily.

“It’s a crass question,” she warned.

His smile widened. “Even better.”

She huffed in amusement before speaking. “How come…” Almost immediately, she trailed off as she realized just how tactless her question was. But Felassan’s expression was expectant, so there was nothing she could do but to try and phrase this as delicately as she could. 

Unfortunately, delicacy was not Tamaris’s forte. “I’m kind of surprised that you don’t have fire or lightning coming out of your hands when you’re fucking me,” she said. “Your eyes get all lit up, but you don’t…” She trailed off once more: Felassan was laughing. 

She rubbed her face awkwardly. “That was rude. Gods, I’m sorry…” 

“That _is_ a crass question,” he chortled. “But it’s a very good one. And you have to promise not to laugh at my answer.”

“But you’re laughing at the question!” she protested.

“You can’t blame me. It’s a funny question,” he said. “But if you laugh at my answer, you may injure my pride.”

She scoffed. “I doubt that very much. But fine, I promise not to laugh.”

He smirked. “The short answer is this: I’ve been practicing.”

She frowned slightly. “Practicing? Practicing what?”

He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she blinked. “Wait. Have you… you’ve been practicing how to come without making fire and lightning? How have you been doing that?”

“Masturbating,” he said baldly. “I _had_ to practice. It… didn’t go well the first time I tried.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He lifted one eyebrow. “I almost burned my own cock.”

She stared at him. Oh fuck, she was going to laugh. No, she couldn’t, she _couldn’t_ , she’d promised she wouldn’t–

A snort of mirth escaped her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, and Felassan grinned at her. “You’re cruel. You promised—” 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” She rubbed her mouth until her face was under control, then widened her eyes. “Tell me. I want to know. I mean it.”

He chuckled, then went back to trailing his fingers over her hip and the side of her thigh. “I tried to masturbate the first night I was here, but I almost burned myself. I kept trying every night after that, but I was getting too frustrated, in more ways than one. It was only making the problem worse.”

Her belly writhed with sympathy. Now she really felt bad for laughing. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“No need to apologize,” he said lazily. “You helped, in fact.” He gave her a sly little smile. “Or maybe I should say that Fen’Harel helped.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What?” she said flatly.

“The mana-building exercises. The fundamentals that you reminded me of,” he explained. “I focused on my breathing and pulled the magic _back_ from my hands while I was touching myself, and eventually it worked.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “That’s… But we only started doing those exercises a week before we had sex.” She peered at him with growing amazement. “You figured out how to control your magic during sex in a _week_?”

“I was extremely motivated,” he said dirtily. “And I’m not flattering you when I say that you helped.”

“How?”

“You kissed me.”

She gave him a quizzical look, and he tapped her hip. “You may have noticed that my magic is more out of control when I’m upset than when I’m content.”

“I might have noticed that, yeah,” she said gently.

He nodded. “The memory of kissing you was something positive to focus on while I was touching myself instead of the frustration. It was extremely helpful.” He propped himself up on one elbow and smiled down at her. “Would you like to know what I concluded from this?”

His palm was smoothing over her hip and belly now in a slow and languid circle, and Tamaris rolled onto her back and stretched happily under his hand. “Go on, then. What did you conclude?”

He slowly lowered his face toward hers. “The more you kiss me, the faster my magic will come back,” he murmured.

She quirked a playful eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I think it’s a good deduction,” he said pleasantly.

She scoffed softly and slid her hand around the back of his neck. “I bet you do,” she said, and she pulled him down for a kiss.

His lips parted for her, and she savoured the heat of his tongue and the plushness of his lips for a blissful moment. Then he pulled away from her and tilted his head playfully. “What do you know? I feel more magical already.”

She chuckled, then gazed at him more seriously. “Seriously though, that’s really impressive. I’ve never even felt a hint of fire or lightning when you’re fucking me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That would be insulting if you didn’t mean it literally.”

She let out a little laugh and stretched her arms leisurely over her head. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I’d never turn them down,” he said.

She relaxed into the mattress and patted his hand, which was still stroking her belly. “Fine. You make me come so hard that I can’t see for a few seconds while it’s happening. How’s that?”

His eyes flared with heat, to Tamaris’s delight. “It’ll do,” he said. Then he dropped his voice to a low and intimate pitch. “You, on the other hand, make me come so hard that I lose my words.” 

His words sent a sudden ripple of heat through her body — heat that was stoked by his stroking hand, which was moving ever-so-slowly toward her breast. “You? Lose your words? I don’t believe it,” she breathed.

He smirked at her. “I had better prove it, then.” He peeled the sheets away from her legs, then laid a kiss on the underside of her breast.

His cheek brushed over the peak of her breast, and she shivered in response. Felassan brushed his lips over her nipple until it was a hardened little bud, then began slowly trailing his lips down over the bowl of her belly while easing her thighs apart with one hand, and Tamaris exhaled shakily and arched her spine. “You’re supposed to be proving that _you_ can’t, um, talk when I…” She broke off with a shaky gasp: Felassan was gently kissing her sex, and every tender press of his lips was pulling a ripple of buzzing warmth to the juncture of her thighs. 

He pressed a hot open-mouthed kiss between her legs, then lifted his face to look at her. “What were you saying?”

“Um…” She gulped. “I… we’re supposed to see if _you_ lose your words, not… not me.”

Felassan smiled slowly at her. “We can test the theory with you first.” He lowered his head once more and slowly swept his tongue along the length of her sex, and Tamaris lifted her hips toward his mouth with a moan. 

He continued to caress her with soft teasing kisses and firm sweeping strokes of his tongue, and Tamaris helplessly rolled her hips toward his mouth. The pleasure was rising through her body in a languorous and graceful wave until it almost felt like she was floating in the blissful ecstasy of his talented lips and tongue. When she finally hit her peak, it was just as blissful and languorous: a scintillating burst of pleasure that rippled down to her calves and up to a starburst of white lights behind her closed eyelids.

“Felassan,” she cried, and she mindlessly dragged her nails across her chest. 

When she was settled on the bed once more, Felassan lifted his mouth from between her legs. “Well, you said my name,” he said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t lose all your words.”

She panted for breath, then smiled at him. “I saw stars for a second too.” 

He smiled and bowed his head graciously. “That is high praise indeed.” To her dismay, however, he sat up and shifted to the edge of the bed. 

“Where are you going?” she asked. Maybe she was being greedy given that they’d spent the whole night twisted together in her bed, but now that she’d gotten a taste of what it was to enjoy him without the burden of her own uncertainties hanging over her head, she just wanted… well, _more._

He shot her a smile as he stood up. “To take a bath. Come with me.”

She dragged her eyes away from the rise of his cock and propped herself up on her stunted arm. “A bath? Why now?” she complained. He was hard and ready, and she wanted him _now_.

His smile widened. “Because I can taste myself between your legs more than I can taste you, and I’d prefer it to be the other way around.” 

She pulled a little face. “Oh. You know what, that’s fair.” She pushed back the sheets, then followed him into her en-suite washroom.

He was already filling the enchanted Orlesian tub with water, and Tamaris eyed the tub with a hint of caution. She hadn’t bathed with anyone in years, not since she and Solas had snuck away in the Emerald Graves to swim in the silver falls one night. 

She instantly felt a bit guilty remembering that moment, especially with Felassan standing naked right in front of her and humming softly to himself as he combed his fingers through his long black hair. But then she realized something — something wonderful: she had no lingering wistfulness for that moment with Solas in the Emerald Graves. It was a nice memory with someone she used to love, but it was no longer tainted by longing. 

“Tamaris?” 

She looked up. Felassan was binding his hair into a neat bun at the nape of his neck, and his expression was quizzical. 

She smiled and shook her head slightly; this was one memory of Solas that Felassan didn’t need to hear. Especially since the beautiful sight of Felassan’s hard naked body was driving any other thoughts from her mind. 

She sauntered toward him, and a slow smile curled his lips. “You look like a woman with a mission.” 

“Maybe I am,” she said. She trailed her fingers down over his abs, then wrapped her fingers around his cock. 

His breath hitched, and when Tamaris squeezed him, he groaned. “Seeking proof of what I said before, are you?” he breathed.

“Exactly,” she said, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. He stumbled back slightly and braced himself on the edge of the bathtub, and not a moment too soon: Tamaris was nuzzling his inner thigh, breathing in the sharp scent of sweat between his legs before brushing her lips along the length of his cock and taking him into her mouth. 

He gasped and jerked his hips toward her, and Tamaris angled her head so his cock could slide further into her throat. He tasted like a melding of himself and her, of the pleasure that they’d been inflicting on each other all night and for most of the morning, and Tamaris savoured the salt of their sex while fantasizing about the sweet feeling of his cock filling more than just her mouth. 

He moaned and slid his hands into her hair, and Tamaris’s lust trebled as his elegant fingers stroked her scalp. He began carefully gathering her hair into a bundle at the nape of her neck, and with every sweeping draw of his fingers through her hair, her blood seemed to beat more powerfully between her legs where she needed him so badly. 

He held her hair in one hand and stroked the back of her neck, then began gently guiding her as he pumped his hips toward her mouth, and Tamaris moaned around his cock. His hands were gentle, but his cock in her throat was so fucking _firm_. The way he was guiding her to suck him was also both gentle and firm, and Tamaris was more than happy to let him guide her as his every careful thrust brought her own anticipation higher. 

She twisted her hips restlessly and dug her fingers into his thigh, torn between the dual wishes to swallow his seed and to feel him filling her up. But his hand in her hair just felt so fucking good, both soothing and stimulating somehow, and she could hear his breathing growing faster as his hips started to move a bit more quickly…

He gasped. “Tamaris…” 

She moaned her approval and began suckling him faster. His cock was becoming even harder in her mouth and throat, and his fingertips were starting to curl more firmly into the back of her neck, and the impending signs of his climax only made her more eager still. 

She sucked him hard and savoured the desperation in his gasping breaths. Then, when his pulsing cock was a rock-hard rod in her throat, she released him and grabbed his cock in her right hand instead. 

“Try and say something,” she gasped, and she pumped him with her fist.

Felassan cried out, and his climax announced itself with a burst that spattered across her throat and chest. “ _Ar isala’gara’seia’vallas,_ ” he moaned. 

Tamaris stroked him again. He shuddered and gasped, and another drop of his seed landed on her lower lip and her chin. She eagerly licked his pleasure from her lip, then continued to pump his cock until he grabbed her hand.

“Mercy, _avise,_ ” he panted. “Have mercy.” 

She looked up at him. His cheeks and ears were flushed and his eyes were glowing with satisfaction, and he was beaming at her. 

She licked the seed from the tip of his cock, then released him. “You lied,” she said cheekily. “You didn’t lose your words. You just forgot the common tongue.” 

He laughed breathlessly and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s be precise: you drove the common tongue out of my head.” He wiped his seed from her chin with his thumb. “Would you like to know what I said?”

She nodded, and a slow grin lit his pleasure-flushed face. “‘I want to rub your come into my skin’.” 

She burst out a delighted laugh. “Felassan! That’s so filthy!” 

“Hardly,” he said. “You’re clearly of the same mind. Look what a mess you are.” He leaned back and admired her chest, which was liberally painted with the evidence of his pleasure. “You know, I quite like you like this.”

“Like what?” she said. 

“Covered in sex from head to toe,” he replied smoothly. He pulled her close with one hand on her hip, then reached between her legs and smoothed his fingers over the slippery moisture that coated the insides of her thighs. 

Tamaris dragged in a shaky breath. He was petting the inner margins of her thighs without touching her pussy, and it was such a deliberate tease that she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or beg or to play along. 

She settled on playing along. “I thought you wanted to take a bath,” she panted. “Which is it? Do you like me all dirty, or do you want me clean?”

He chuckled, then tipped her chin up and kissed her, and all the while he was stroking the tender insides of her thighs. “I want you every way that you present yourself to me,” he whispered against her lips. “But for now, let’s get you clean.” He released her and stepped into the tub, and the abandonment of his hands made her so fucking _eager_ that she was actually rendered dizzy for a moment. 

She took another deep and bracing breath, then shot him a mock-resentful look as she stepped into the tub. “You’re mean. A mean, horrible tease,” she accused.

“I’m well aware,” he said complacently. He pulled her between his legs so her back was resting his against his chest. “Now relax while I clean you up.” 

She settled herself cozily against his chest, and Felassan began rinsing his seed from her skin. He smoothed the bathwater over her throat and chest, and she blissfully closed her eyes and relaxed into his touch. 

When his palm began smoothing down her chest toward her breast, she smiled faintly. “I don’t think there was any come there,” she said.

He turned his head slightly so his lips were brushing against her temple. “I’m just being thorough,” he murmured. “Trying to get you as clean as possible. It’s a very selfless act.”

“I’m sure,” she drawled. Then she let out a slow and pleasured sigh; Felassan was cupping her breast, and his fingers were playing gently over her nipple. 

He slid his other arm around her waist and down to her thigh, and Tamaris allowed him to pull her legs apart. He smoothed his palm over her inner thigh, then gently pressed two fingers against her swollen clit, and a fresh surge of excitement stopped her breath for a moment.

He pressed his fingers against her sensitive bud with the _perfect_ degree of indirect pressure, and Tamaris moaned and arched her spine. The firm cradle of his body behind her, his hand between her legs, his fingers rolling over her nipple… She could hardly wrap her head around how _good_ it all was.

“You’re spoiling me with all this attention,” she whimpered. 

“I’m spoiling myself,” he told her quietly. “Do you know what my favourite sound has been since I was cured?” 

“What?” she said distractedly. His fingers were so gentle between her legs, with just the perfect sweet pressure to feel good on her sensitized flesh, and his fingers playing over her nipple were just making her pleasure rise all the faster. 

“Hearing you call my name when I make you come,” he murmured. Then he lowered his voice to an intimate purr and started speaking to her in Elvhen.

She gasped and twisted her hips; she didn’t know how or why, but the unfathomable words rolling over his tongue made her all the more desperate and desirous, and it was just the kick she needed to hit her peak. 

She cried out and grabbed the edge of the tub, uncaring about the splash of water spilling onto the floor. “Felassan, f- _fuck!_ ” she gasped, and then she was shuddering and whimpering as the rapture buzzed from his nimble fingers straight down to her toes.

When the waves of pleasure finally waned, she slumped back against his chest, and Felassan chuckled. “My favourite sound. Thank you for that.” 

“Anytime,” she breathed. The hardness of his cock was pressing into her back, and she couldn’t decide what she wanted more: to encourage his erection further, or to just lie bonelessly in the bathtub for a minute. 

Her body seemed to know what it wanted, however; she was already shifting in the tub to rub back against him. He sighed against her ear – a lovely growly sigh that lifted a fresh thrill beneath her skin — then gently nipped the edge of her ear. 

“We may starve to death if we keep this up,” he whispered. 

She let out a breathless little laugh. “I was just thinking that. I’m so hungry, but I don’t want to go downstairs.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, and he smoothed his hands over her thighs. “I can make something quick, bring it back upstairs.”

He was curling his hips toward her, and the hardness of his cock riding against her back was enormously distracting. She forced herself to find an answer. “No, that’s… that’s not fair to you,” she stammered. “I’ll come downstairs with you.”

He nuzzled her cheekbone. “Perhaps I’d rather keep you naked up here.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “You can get me naked again as soon as we’re finished eating.”

“Is that a promise?” he asked.

She laughed. “You’re such a fucking rogue. Yes, it’s a promise.”

“ _Veraisa,_ ” he purred. “All right, let’s go find something to eat.” 

With no small amount of reluctance, they got out of the tub. Even so, Felassan’s plan to fetch some food was easier said than done. He kept touching Tamaris as she was towelling off, skimming his fingers over her body and brushing himself against her as though he couldn’t keep away, and by the time her left arm was strapped on and her hair was combed, she was so wet and eager that she couldn’t be bothered with smallclothes.

She didn’t have a robe, though, and she couldn’t wear trousers with no smalls. She opted instead to wear Felassan’s wrinkled shirt from yesterday as an oversized tunic.

Felassan laughed smugly as he led her downstairs. “No smallclothes? Either you’re trying to torture me, or you’re adopting the ways of ancient Elvhenan.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she grunted, but in truth, she was feeling very cheerful. Felassan was positively chipper, and her borrowed shirt was infused with his lovely sleepy-soapy scent, and aside from her hunger and the soreness in her thighs from all the sex, she really had no complaints.

He started pulling ingredients out of the cupboards and the icebox, and Tamaris hopped up to sit on the kitchen island as always. Felassan started putting together a salad, and as he sliced strawberries and diced a ripe avocado, Tamaris shamelessly admired the veins in his forearms and the droplets of bathwater still clinging to his bare shoulders and back.

She swung her feet idly and didn’t speak, and eventually he looked up with a smile. “You’re so quiet, _avise_. What are you thinking about?” 

_You,_ she thought goofily. As much as she hated to admit it, she was feeling exactly like one of the vapid heroines in Cassandra’s romance novel collection: fuzzy-headed and infatuated and foolish, with no thoughts in her head aside from the man who was making her feel this way. 

This was way too soppy for her to tell him, however, so she shrugged. “Tell me something,” she said. 

“Tell you something? Like what?”

“Anything you want,” she said. 

He smiled and continued chopping vegetables and fruit. “Are you looking for embarrassing stories now that you’ve softened me up with sex?”

“I’m looking for any kind of stories,” she replied. “Tell me whatever you want.” In truth, she didn’t care what he told her; she just wanted to hear the melody of his voice.

He shook his head in amusement. “All right, let me think. I believe the next big event I’ll be reading in _This Shit Is Weird_ is your adventure to Mythal’s Temple, is that correct?”

She nodded, and he chuckled. “I know what will amuse you. I can tell you how I know Abelas.”

She raised her eyebrows, interested despite herself. “So you knew him well, then?”

“Quite well, yes,” Felassan said. “He worked closely with Fen’Harel.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Abelas is an _elgar’venathe_ , you know. He took a corporeal form some few hundred years after Fen’Harel, but still long before I was born.”

She raised her eyebrows. “He was a spirit of sorrow?”

“No, actually,” Felassan said, to her surprise. “For most of his bodily life, he was called ‘Shivan’un’ — ‘one who does his duty willingly and with joy’. Abelas is the name he took after Mythal’s death.”

At these words, a little pang of worry twisted her gut. She leaned toward him. “Felassan, I — there’s something else I should have mentioned before. Mythal isn’t dead.”

He stopped chopping and looked up. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t look as surprised as she thought he would. “You’re certain of this?”

“Yes,” she said. “I — Morrigan and I, we encountered her in the Fade when she was trying to do something to Kieran.”

He gazed intensely at her. “You encountered Mythal? And she acknowledged Morrigan as her daughter?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. She was starting to feel a little nervous about his serious expression. “She called Kieran her grandson, too. Why?”

“Where is Morrigan now?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “After we killed Corypheus, she left with Kieran. She told us not to track her, and since she helped us take Corypheus’s dragon down, I let it go. No one’s heard from her since.”

He nodded slowly but didn’t reply. He set the knife down and rubbed his chin, then burst out a little laugh. “ _Mythal ma ghilana._ ”

Tamaris’s sense of misgivings deepened at this. “Yeah, she seemed pretty fucking shady to me too. Solas was all, ‘she was the voice of reason’, but… I don’t know. She’s not what I imagined. But I mean, none of the Evanuris are sounding like how we thought—”

Felassan suddenly squeezed her knee. “Tamaris, can I… can we wait until I’ve read this part of Varric’s book before we talk about this any further?”

“Of course,” she said, but he was really starting to worry her now. The worry must have been obvious in her face; Felassan’s serious expression softened slightly. “I will tell you what I’m thinking, I promise,” he assured her. “But if I have all the information first…” 

“It’s okay, Felassan,” she interrupted gently. “It can wait. I really don’t mind.”

He nodded and released her knee, then went back to chopping lettuce, and Tamaris cautiously eyed the crease between his eyebrows before speaking again. “Did you want to tell me anything else about Abelas, though?”

His expression returned to his usual half-smile, to her relief. “Ah, yes: Abelas. As I mentioned, he worked closely with Fen’Harel. It was Fen’Harel who recommended him to Mythal’s service, in fact, and he was one of her first warriors to master the _dirth’ena enasalin_.”

Tamaris snapped her fingers. “I knew that’s what you meant when you first mentioned that! The Sentinels all practice the _dirth’ena enasalin,_ don’t they?”

“They do indeed,” Felassan said. “Abelas was one of the first and finest of Mythal’s committed warriors. He was absolutely loyal to her, and to Fen’Harel by proxy as her dear companion.” He glanced at Tamaris. “He was also no fun at parties.”

She smirked; his eyes were dancing with mischief. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Felassan placed the chopped lettuce in a serving bowl. “He always acted as though he was on duty. He occasionally came to Fen’Harel’s gatherings, but he always ended up guarding the door. He rarely spoke to anyone, and he almost never drank.”

His tone was carefully neutral in that specific way that meant he’d done something pranky. Tamaris tilted her head playfully. “Almost never? What did you do?”

He widened his eyes. “Me? Nothing.”

Tamaris gave him a deeply skeptical look, and he sighed musically. “All right, I confess. I may have planted the idea, but Fen’Harel was responsible for carrying it out.”

His voice was bright with suppressed laughter, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile. “What did you do, Felassan?” she drawled.

He shot her a quick grin before pouring some pecan halves into a dry pan. “I may have expressed a concern to Fen’Harel that Abelas ought to let loose once in a while, or he would go mad and smash his spirit blade through the wrong person’s head.” 

Tamaris snorted a laugh, but Felassan wasn’t finished; he turned the stove on beneath the pan of pecans, then turned to her with a grin. “I may also have made a subtle suggestion that Fen’Harel’s parties were becoming a tiny bit stale.”

She laughed again, this time with disbelief. “And he rose to that bait?”

“You must remember that this was an earlier time,” Felassan reminded her. “The Solas of my youth wasn’t the subtle and mild-mannered man you knew. He was…” Felassan shrugged. “He was pride. He was confident and bold and… well, proud.” He smiled wickedly. “And he wasn’t fond of the idea that one of his friends might not be enjoying his parties.”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris said drolly. “So what happened next?”

Felassan turned to the stove and shook the pan of pecans to toast them evenly. “I procured some special wine from a contact of ours in Sylaise’s household — very strong wine that doesn’t taste nearly as strong as it is. Fen’Harel persuaded Abelas into having a glass, and, well…” Felassan smirked at her. “He got completely inebriated from one and a half glasses of wine.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Tamaris exclaimed. She couldn’t imagine Abelas — stern, huge, forbidding Abelas — getting shitfaced on less than two glasses of wine.

“I would never kid about something so spectacular,” Felassan said. “He carried on with some rambling boring speech about Mythal’s virtues until Fen’Harel persuaded him onto the dance floor, and that turned out to be the most wonderful mistake. He danced terribly but with so much enthusiasm that half of the party were in a frenzy for him by the end of the night. He bedded two women and a spirit of curiosity, and when he came to the next morning, he couldn’t find his right boot or his left… what’s the word?” He tapped his shoulder and gave Tamaris a quizzical look. “ _Ama’tarlavin_ — armour for your shoulder?”

“His pauldron?” she supplied.

“Yes, thank you,” Felassan said. “He was missing a boot and a pauldron.” He removed the pecans from the stove and spread them out on his cutting board. “He was mortified, of course. Which he expressed by not coming to one of Fen’Harel’s parties again for over three hundred years.” He shot her a long-suffering look. “Somehow he blamed me for his dreadful behaviour, if you can believe that.”

Tamaris laughed. “You orchestrated it! Of course I believe it!”

Felassan grinned, then started roughly chopping the pecan halves. “Sadly, Abelas never forgave me. Possibly because I never stopped reminding him about it, but that’s just a guess.”

Tamaris eyed him fondly. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“Thank you, Tamaris,” he said graciously. “I try my very best.” He whisked together the dressing and assembled the salad ingredients in the serving bowl, and Tamaris watched him fondly as he tossed the salad.

He slid the bowl toward her and handed her a fork, and she smiled at him before spearing a bite of salad. The dressing was sweet and tangy with honey and lime, and Tamaris savoured the combination of creamy avocado and crunchy pecans before swallowing. 

“Tell me something else,” she said. She took another bite, this time of lettuce and strawberry.

He shot her a smile and popped a bite of salad in his mouth. “You’re in an _inquisitive_ mood.”

She snorted at the feeble pun. “Are you not in a sharing mood?”

“I’m always in a sharing mood with you,” he said.

His tone was faintly suggestive, and Tamaris smirked. “Keep it in your pants. For now.”

He chuckled. “You really are a minx. All right, what else can I tell you?” He took another bite of salad and chewed thoughtfully. “I can tell you something that surprised me when I woke up in this time.”

“All right,” Tamaris said, and she bit into a pecan piece with a satisfying crunch. 

Felassan lifted his fork to his mouth, then hesitated. “Hm. Now that I think of it, I hope you’ll find this humorous and not infuriating.”

She gave him a quizzical look, and he pulled a little face. “It’s about the Templars. I know you have little fondness for them.”

She sobered and lowered her fork. “I think the Templar Order shouldn’t exist, if that’s what you mean.”

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement of this. “They did not exist in ancient Elvhenan, obviously. When I woke up in this time and was trying to get my bearings, it took me a while to understand what their purpose was.” He took another bite of salad and swallowed before going on. “The Templars frame their abilities as though they are the antithesis of magic, but that’s…” He huffed. “It’s essentially the opposite of the truth.”

Tamaris recoiled slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Templar abilities are a type of magic,” Felassan said baldly. 

Tamaris froze in surprise as Felassan went on. “The human Chantry doesn’t recognize it as magic because… well, they’re the Chantry,” he said with a wry smile. “Getting things completely wrong is their greatest tradition. But the source of Templar magic is not the Fade, so the Chantry doesn’t recognize it as such.”

The source of Templar magic… _Lyrium,_ Tamaris thought dumbly. He was talking about lyrium. And now that he’d mentioned it, she remembered Solas once saying that lyrium was the source of all magic aside from the Fade. 

“But mages use lyrium to enhance their magic,” she said faintly.

“Yes, they do,” Felassan agreed. “Lyrium matches and enhances a mage’s ability to pull magic through the Fade. But for Templars who have no innate magical ability…” He sighed. “It’s tricky to explain. The lyrium gives the Templars a form of magic that… vibrates in a different way than our magic. I think this is why they get addicted to the lyrium. It makes something in their blood vibrate in a way that it’s not meant to do.”

Tamaris put her fork down. “So… so you’re saying that Templars use magic to cancel magic?”

“It’s ironic, I know,” Felassan said wryly. “The spells they learn are all tailored toward tamping down another’s magic, but they are still spells.”

Tamaris sighed and shook her head. “For fuck’s sake. That really is ironic.” She dragged her hands through her hair. “Fucking hypocrites.”

“Have some salad. It’ll make you feel better,” Felassan said. 

His expression was sympathetic despite his jocular words, and Tamaris managed a weak smile and picked up her fork. She took another bite of the undeniably delicious salad and swallowed it before speaking again. 

“So is lyrium essentially a poison that only mages can safely tolerate?” she asked. “Or safe-ish, at least?”

“Mages and dwarves,” Felassan said. “Dwarves in the past, at least.”

“Dwarves nowadays still have a resistance to it,” Tamaris told him. “Or some of them do. I think the ones who are born in Orzammar are more resistant than the ones who are born on the surface.” She speared another forkful of avocado and lettuce. 

Then something odd occurred to her — something she’d wondered about ever since her foray through the eluvians and into the deep roads, but hadn’t had the chance to address in detail. 

She looked up at Felassan. “Did you know any dwarves back in the olden days?”

To her dismay, his face took on that anachronistic melancholy that made her stomach lurch. “I met some, yes,” he said. “But I don’t think that’s what you’re really asking about.”

 _The Titans,_ Tamaris thought. She nervously licked her lips. This look on Felassan’s face… it couldn’t possibly herald anything good. “Maybe we should save it for when Varric is here,” she said tentatively. “He’s not… he’s not really into dwarven history, but I still think he should hear it.”

Felassan nodded. “That’s reasonable.”

They ate quietly for a moment. The mood was subdued now, as though the worries of the world were finally bleeding into the comfort of Tamaris and Felassan’s home, and Tamaris couldn't help but wish she and Felassan had stayed upstairs in bed after all.

Felassan broke the silence, as he was wont to do. “I’m sorry to keep ruining your attempts at pillow talk,” he said. 

She shot him a little smile. His thoughts were clearly running along the same lines as hers. “You really are ruining it,” she said. “Stop talking about real-world shit and tell me something good.” 

He grinned at her, and his beauty made her heart do a somersault in her chest. “Something good? Like what?” he asked.

“Like…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”

Felassan chuckled and shook his head. “You and your love of personal secrets. I will if you will.”

She scoffed. “You and your trades. Fine, then. But you go first.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Let me think, now. Something I’ve never told anyone else…” He tilted his head and thought for a moment, then sighed. “All right, I have something. But it’s not particularly light-hearted.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“All right,” Felassan said. His expression was serious now. “I told you before that Fen’Harel made me Tranquil while trying to kill me. But I didn’t tell you that I allowed him to find me in the Fade.”

Her eyes widened as Felassan went on. “I had the herb mixture that blocks the Fade; I could have used it then and gone on the run. But instead of running, I presented myself to him.”

“Why?” Tamaris asked. Did he think that he could defeat Solas in a fight?

“Because I was ready to die,” Felassan said.

Her rib cage froze with shock. She stared at him silently for a second before speaking. “Why?” she breathed.

He leaned back against the counter in a gesture that looked far more casual than his sober expression implied. “I couldn’t remain with Briala,” he said. “Staying with her would have made her a target for Fen’Harel’s wrath. I’d purposely failed my mission, so there was no other reason for me to remain in this time. I had done my piece, and I was ready to die.”

Arguments were fulminating at the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back; Felassan was alive and well, so he’d clearly changed his mind. 

He was still speaking. “When Rhys reversed my Tranquility, I thought about ending my own life. I couldn’t do magic, I could barely function…” He shrugged and folded his arms. “I didn’t think there was anything in this time left to live for.”

He sounded so casual and matter-of-fact, but Tamaris’s pulse was racing at the thought of him trying to kill himself. She took a slow breath to calm herself. “What stopped you?” she asked.

He looked up at her. His eyes were serious but warm, and the look on his face made her heart skip a beat. “Cassandra told me she was going to send me to Kirkwall to meet you,” he said. “Frankly, I was curious to meet the ex-Inquisitor who was Fen’Harel’s ex-lover. I couldn’t exactly sate my curiosity if I was dead, could I?”

His tone was still matter-of-fact, but his expression was so tender now that it was making her throat feel thick. She swallowed hard and shot him a little smile. “Yeah. Dead people aren’t very curious.”

Felassan smirked, but the warmth in his eyes remained. “The Nevarran mortalitasi might disagree, but generally speaking, you’re right. So I spared my own life and followed Rhys and Evangeline here, and…” He bowed his head in a playfully polite gesture. “Here we are.”

“Are you glad you came?” she asked softly.

His smile widened, and he pushed away from the counter. He stepped between her legs and gently squeezed her thighs. “Are you really asking me that, _avise?_ ”

His expression, the warmth in his eyes… gods, she could feel her stupid face flushing just like some idiotic romance heroine. 

She awkwardly tucked a lock of hair over her ear and shrugged. “Stupid question, I guess. I know how much you love this gaudy fucking mansion.”

He laughed softly. “Yes, of course. The mansion is the thing I love.”

His tone was playful, but his words brought a sudden rush of blood to her head. The implication in his words, the… oh Creators, was he saying—? 

He ran his palms along her thighs in a soothing caress. “Your turn,” he said quietly. “You tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”

She exhaled shakily. She couldn’t quite decide if she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t continued that terrifying — and wonderful — train of thought.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek as she tried to find something to tell him. The first thing that came to her mind was the exact thing that his words had implied, and it was also the exact thing that she was still too timid to say.

 _Coward,_ she scolded herself, but with no real self-recrimination; her newly-acknowledged love was there, coiled at the back of her tongue and waiting for the right moment to be confessed, and Tamaris knew she would tell him eventually. 

She would tell him she loved him eventually. Just not today.

She said something else instead. “Remember how I almost stabbed you when we first met?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

She smiled faintly, then stroked his forearm. “Not killing you is the best thing I’ve done in years.”

He laughed. “I’m glad to know you don’t regret sparing me.”

“I mean it,” she said. She shuffled closer to the edge of the counter and draped her arms around his neck. “Meeting you is the nicest thing that’s happened to me in years.”

Felassan’s humour-laced smile melted into something far more tender and sweet, and Tamaris’s heart fluttered. A mere few weeks ago, this tender expression had prompted a rising of panic in her chest. But now, with the warmth of his hands on her body and the weight of her own affection in her chest, this look on his face was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in longer than she could remember. 

He stepped closer to her and slid his hands beneath her borrowed shirt to caress her bare hips. His chin was lifted in a silent entreaty, and Tamaris answered it with a kiss.

She kissed him slowly, savouring the shape of his lips and the tang of honey and lime on his tongue, and Felassan kissed her back in kind. His mouth was soft and his kisses slow, and the firmness of his lips made it clear that they were of equal mind in their languid enjoyment of this embrace. 

Without breaking from her lips, he gathered the hem of her shirt in his hands and began to pull it up, and Tamaris lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. Then they were kissing again, kissing more firmly and urgently as his hands slid over her naked body in a slow and careful caress from her thighs to her waist, then up over her breasts to settle on her neck. He cradled her neck and licked her tongue, and Tamaris gripped his waist and petted his chest, and when she whimpered into his mouth, he abruptly lifted her up. 

She hungrily traced his ear with her tongue as he carried her to the dining table, unable to stop her ravenous mouth from tasting some part of his body. As soon as she was seated on the table, Felassan was kissing her again, hungry deep kisses that only served to prove how closely aligned their passions were. 

Felassan kissed her as he eased his breeches down, and he kissed her as he caressed her breast and tilted her hips closer to the table’s edge. When the hard ridge of his cock was rocking against her slickness and spreading her slippery heat over them both, he continued to kiss her until she broke from his lips with a gasp.

“Fuck me,” she begged. “Felassan–!”

He sealed his lips over hers once more and thrust inside of her, and her pleasured cry was muffled by his heated tongue. He fucked her in a deep and steady rhythm, one hand braced on the table while the other tilted her hips to his in such a way that Tamaris was mewling with rapture, and still he continued to kiss her, stroking her tongue with his and permitting her to nip his lip, then nipping at her lower lip in turn when she broke away from him to gasp for breath. 

She whimpered and curled her hips to meet him, and Felassan gasped against the corner of her lips. “Tamaris,” he moaned.

She cradled his flushed cheek in her palm and pressed her forehead to his. His rocking hips were filling her up in such a perfect relentless rhythm, and they were gasping together so their pleasured breaths were melding between them with the same heat that was ratcheting through her blood. Felassan’s breathing was quickly becoming an erratic storm of breathy moans, and when the exquisite hardness inside of her became even harder still, she mewled with pleasure and kissed him hard.

He dug his fingers into her hip and groaned into her mouth. The rapture took him with a full-body shudder, and Tamaris twined her arms around his shaking shoulders. She held him tightly and kissed him hard, and when the tension of climax left his body, she kissed him still, unwilling to relinquish the plumpness of his lips. 

They kissed slowly and languorously until Tamaris’s sweat had cooled. Then Felassan finally leaned away from her lips. 

He released her hip and slid his hand into her hair instead, then gently pulled her head back and placed one last sweet kiss on her lips before speaking. 

“We didn’t finish our food,” he murmured. “We really are going to starve to death.”

His voice was husky with pleasure and his smile was brimming with heat, and Tamaris gazed adoringly at his handsome face as she replied. “I can think of worse ways to go,” she said.

He chuckled and stroked her neck. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” she whispered. She tipped her chin up to tempt him in for yet another kiss.

He smiled and kissed her once again, then broke the kiss to laugh softly against her lips, and Tamaris smiled helplessly at the perfect lilting sound of his mirth. Their meal was sitting half-eaten and forgotten on the kitchen island, and if Tamaris was honest, she was hungry still. But with Felassan’s laughter in her ears and his body flush to hers, she had never felt so full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes:  
> \- It’s entirely my self-indulgent headcanon that Felassan and Solas knew Abelas well. COME ON, THERE’S JUST TOO MUCH COMEDIC POTENTIAL THERE. #AncientBoybandForever  
> \- It is canon that Abelas adopted that name after Mythal’s ‘death’, as seen in [this Codex entry](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Untranslatable_Elven_Writing) that you only get if your Inquisitor drank from the Well of Sorrows.  
> \- The theory about Templar powers just being a different form of magic: it’s my hypothesis, expanded by [this awesome theory](https://pikaloredump.tumblr.com/post/620456842620010496/the-nature-of-the-veil) about the nature of magic and the Veil. More on this (I think) in later chapters. This hypothesis about Templars and magic may very well have been made by others before, but I just haven’t seen it. 
> 
> I know I keep teasing the Big Lore Shit™, and I promise it will eventually come up. Maybe next week?  
> One more chapter this week!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), at your service. xo


	21. Wolf Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today: smut and lore! Mostly _Tevinter Nights_ stuff. You have @elbenherzart to blame for the smut you’re about to read. She’s a naughty influence. 😉💦
> 
> Tiny note: In this world state, Alistair is the king of Ferelden and Anora is the queen. (My personal preference is for Anora to rule alone while Ali stays a Warden, but Ali being the King of Ferelden is too intertwined with other canon stuff for me to cast it aside.)

It was several days before Tamaris and Felassan finally peeled themselves out of the blissful cocoon of her bedroom to resume some of their usual activities. 

They went back to their magic sparring bouts, but these ended earlier than planned when they inevitably got distracted by each other’s sweat-laced bodies. It was another few days before they attempted to do anything other than sparring, sex, eating, and talking lazily together in her bed in a blissfully hedonistic haze before sleeping for few hours and waking up to do it all over again. 

By the time they finally decided to get back into the routine they’d been willfully neglecting, a full week had passed. One of the activities they’d been neglecting was spending time with Varric, who had been coming over three times a week or so since Tamaris and Felassan had moved in. But after the _incident_ that had happened a few days ago, it seemed that Varric had decided to give Felassan and Tamaris some space.

Tamaris had not meant for it to happen. It had seemed likely that Varric would come over for dinner and to drop off supplies, since she and Felassan were running low on food. So Tamaris was fully anticipating Varric’s visit toward the end of the afternoon.

What she failed to anticipate was her own inability to say no to Felassan when he set his mind to seducing her.

She was in the kitchen doing a thorough scrub of the sink when he wandered in and sidled up behind her. “What are you up to in here?” he asked. 

“I thought you were supposed to be an excellent spy. Can’t you tell?” she teased. In truth, she was trying to keep her hands and her mind busy until Varric got here, purposely to keep them off of Felassan.

He chuckled and stepped closer to her. “That tongue of yours is sharp enough to cut. Come show me just how fine a blade it can be.”

His hands were sliding sinuously over her hips as he spoke. One hand came to rest just below her navel while the other slipped beneath the hem of her sleeveless top, and Tamaris inhaled shakily as his fingertips inched slowly up toward her breast.

“That’s a terrible line,” she told him. “It makes no sense.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “Let me try again, then. You’re correct: I am an excellent spy.” He brushed his thumb over her nipple through her bra. “And what I spy is a woman who is making an admirable effort to keep her hands off of her lover. Futile, surely, but admirable.”

He was right, of course, and it was galling – especially when his voice was bright with barely suppressed laughter. His thumb teased her nipple again, and she forced herself not to arch into his touch. “That’s not true,” she breathed. “I think your spy senses are skewed.”

He carefully combed her hair away from her ear and brushed his lips over her temple. “You’re lying,” he said quietly. 

Tamaris drew a slow inhale. His voice was low, smooth, intoxicating, and perfectly pitched to make her weaken her resolve — something she refused to do. “And you’re being distracting,” she retorted. “I’m trying to clean the kitchen before Varric gets here.”

“Varric doesn’t care if the kitchen is clean,” Felassan said.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

“It’s…” She trailed off; her nipple had become a hard little pearl under his softly brushing thumb, and it was extremely preoccupying. “He’ll be over soon, so I’m cleaning the kitchen,” she said weakly.

Felassan chuckled softly against her ear. “I see. You’re concerned that he’ll arrive while we are in the throes, are you?”

She scoffed, then had to stifle a moan when his hand slid higher inside of her top. His fingertips smoothed over her sternum before curving around her throat, and Tamaris leaned her head back against his chest in bliss.

Beside her ear, she could feel Felassan’s lips curving into a smile. She sighed in annoyance. “Okay, fine, maybe I’m a little concerned about that.”

He stroked her throat with his thumb. “Don’t be concerned,” he murmured. “If Varric comes before we do, well… he can always come back later.”

“And you call yourself polite,” she scolded. “He’s bringing our supplies.” She suddenly jolted and gasped; his other hand was gliding lower, and his fingertips were dipping into the waistband of her harem pants.

“I also said that sometimes a little rudeness is necessary,” Felassan said. “And I think that’s what _you_ need.”

His voice held a hint of a growl now, and Tamaris shivered at the delicious sound. “I definitely don’t,” she said firmly. 

He huffed softly. “I think some rudeness is exactly what you’re looking for,” he said, and his hand slid lower still to cup the vee of her thighs.

She gasped involuntarily, and Felassan let out a smug little laugh. “Oh, Tamaris. Your tongue may make a liar of you, but this body of yours gives away the truth.”

Her eyes fluttered shut; his hand in her pants was stroking her ever-so-lightly over her smalls, and the hand at her neck was sliding higher to trace the angle of her jaw.

She drew a shuddery breath. “Well, my body is traitor,” she said shakily. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

His hands instantly went still. “Is that really what you want?”

Tamaris hesitated for a second, and he chuckled. “Even your tongue can’t lie to me now, _avise._ It would be a shame to deprive yourself.” 

She huffed. “‘Deprive myself’? You’re a cocky one.”

“Not cocky,” he said. “Just observant. I see how much you enjoy having my hand between your legs.” His lips brushed the tip of her ear. “Or my head while I lick you until you’re squirming. Or my hips while I drive my cock into you.”

She inhaled shakily. “F-fuck…” she whimpered.

“We can, if you want,” he said smoothly. “All you have to say is yes.”

“That’s all, huh?” she said wryly.

“That’s all you have to say,” he said. “Though you _can_ say more, if you like.” His voice dropped into a purr. “For example, you could say, ‘yes, Felassan, I want you to slide that thick hard cock inside of me’.”

She laughed, even as a fresh burst of tingling heat lit between her legs. “You _are_ cocky.”

He shook his head slightly. “Just observant,” he murmured. “I’m definitely observing the way you’re trying to rub back against me.”

She went still for a moment, then realized with a hint of embarrassment that he was right; her spine was arched as though to meet the hardness of his cock with the curves of her ass.

“Mythal’s fucking mercy,” she muttered.

Felassan chuckled. “You don’t need her mercy. Just beg for mine, and it’s yours.”

She burst out a breathless laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable. _Ah_ , gods…” She broke off with a pleasured whine; his fingers were rubbing smoothly against her clit through her smallclothes, and the indirect pressure was too much for her to bear.

She capitulated with ill grace. “Fine,” she snapped. “Fine, okay, fuck me. But let’s make it quick.”

“Oh good,” he said cheerfully. “I was so hoping this would happen.”

She barked out a laugh. “You smug—” She broke off with a gasp. His hand was in her smallclothes and his middle finger was sliding down through her slick cleft, and the grazing pressure against her clit sent a shock of pleasure up to her throat and straight down to her toes.

Felassan slipped his hand deeper into her smalls and caressed her lust-slicked folds until she was practically vibrating with want, then pressed his finger into her cleft to seek her clit, and Tamaris keened with pleasure as he began petting the little nub with a light stroke that he’d quickly discovered that she particularly liked. 

She helplessly tilted her hips toward his hand. “Felassan, hurry up,” she whined. “He’ll be here soon.”

He made a soft little noise in his throat. “You keep saying this,” he said. “I almost wonder if you want it to happen.”

“Of course I don’t!” she retorted. “That would be — _mm…_ ” She trailed off with a moan as he slid his fingers through her slickness in a slow caress.

Felassan’s voice was smooth and soft when he spoke again. “I wonder if there’s a small part of you that hopes Varric will walk in while I am fucking you,” he said thoughtfully. “A part of you that’s anticipating that knock on the door while I’m bending you over the kitchen sink and sliding my cock into you.”

His filthy words, _fuck..._ Whenever he talked like this, it always heralded her undoing. “N-no…” she breathed.

“You are sure of that?” he asked. “You are sure that there isn’t some small, secret voice in your head wondering what would happen if you and I were caught mid-thrust, with me gripping your hips and pulling this perfect ass of yours back onto my throbbing cock?”

She pressed her lips together hard. Perversely and entirely against her will, his blunt words were pushing her higher into her lust, pushing her higher into the pleasure that was building at the very tips of his fingers, and when his free hand slid down from her throat to caress her breast, the pleasure surged even higher. 

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he murmured in her ear. “You are thrilled by it. The idea that we might be seen while you’re taking my fingers into your sweet wet pussy. While I’m playing with this hard little nipple of yours and wishing it was in my mouth instead.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “While I am filling you up so entirely and completely that you cannot breathe.”

Tamaris gasped; that was what he’d said before, what he’d said to her in Elvhen when they’d finally fallen back into bed together, and as soon as the words crossed his lips in that cursed and precious growl, they pushed her over the edge of her pleasure.

She convulsively grabbed the edge of the sink and shuddered, fighting to stay upright despite the rapture spasming through her calves. Felassan pulled her back against his chest, his palm firm and hot against her breast as he continued to pet her clit in a light rhythm that coaxed wave after rippling wave of pleasure from her body, and he didn’t stop until Tamaris reached down to grab his wrist. 

“Fuck me,” she gasped. “Come on, fuck me, please…” She pushed him away, then pushed her pants down to her knees and lowered her elbows to the counter so she was bent partly at the waist. 

Felassan didn’t touch her, though, and she looked over her shoulder impatiently. He was still fully dressed, and his glowing amethyst eyes were fixed on her ass. 

“Felassan, come on,” she urged. “Hurry up!”

Without lifting his eyes from her ass, he slowly shook his head. “Hurry, with you? Impossible.” He smoothed his palm slowly over her bottom, then reached his other hand between her legs and stroked her sex. 

She gasped and arched her spine, spreading herself wider in an attempt to lure him in. “Felassan, plea— _ah!_ ” His fingers were inside of her, two fingers delving deeply into the pulsing core of her body, and the pleasure was so great that it forced her to squeeze her eyes shut. 

He exhaled slowly. “Ah, Tamaris,” he crooned. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stay standing.”

“Then _do_ it already!” she blurted. “Felassan, please—!”

“Not yet,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready.”

She burst out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “You are a menace,” she accused. “A total fucking menace.”

His answering laugh was sly and smooth. “Thank you. I try my very best.”

Amused and frustrated, she dug her fingers into the edge of the sink. “You fucking—” She broke off with a pleasured cry. Felassan was curling his fingers inside of her, and the angle of his fingers inside of her body was spurring a fresh and much deeper kind of pleasure: a kind of pleasure that would only be sated by his cock inside of her all the way to the hilt. 

She moaned and bucked back to meet his fingers. “Fuck,” she whined. “Yes, yes, please…” 

“Hm, that’s more like it,” Felassan said. “I do enjoy hearing that charmingly abrasive voice of yours all sweet and mewling for me.”

She laughed again, then broke off with a little cry when his fingers curled again. “You’re so smug,” she gasped.

He chuckled. “I promise you, I’m not. I am humbled by the feel of you. It’s a privilege to watch you bending under my hands.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. His tone was still playful, but something about the slow curl of his fingers inside of her body made her feel like there was more to his words than just the salaciousness that they implied.

She met his eyes — his warm and tender amethyst eyes. “I want you inside me,” she said.

A slow, breathtaking smile lit his face. He carefully pulled his fingers from inside of her and unlaced his breeches, and Tamaris watched eagerly as his cock sprang out of the fabric, hard and ready at attention. She turned back to the sink and bent at the waist, arching her spine so he could take her more easily. Then Felassan’s hand was on her hip, and she could hear his breathing growing short and sharp as he positioned himself behind her— 

His length slid firm and smooth through the slickness of her cleft, and she mewled and bucked back toward him. “Felassan, come on, come _on_ –!” 

He pulled her hips back and thrust into her, and the shock and pleasure of his cock drove a guttural cry from her throat. 

Then someone knocked on the door. 

Tamaris froze. But when Felassan pumped into her again, another pleasured cry burst unwittingly from her lips. 

He pulled her back against his chest and covered her mouth with his hand. “Shh,” he whispered, and to her mixed horror and relief, he continued pumping into her in a sinuous rolling rhythm.

 _Oh gods,_ she thought. Oh gods, this was perfect and _horrifying_. His length was stroking deep inside of her and making her want to cry out, but she couldn’t make any sound with his hand covering her mouth, but his hand over her mouth didn’t change the fact that someone was at the door—

The knock sounded again. Felassan drove into her harder, and she moaned against his palm, and he slid his hand from her hip up to her breast. 

He caressed her nipple through her shirt. “Be very quiet, _avise_ ,” he murmured. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t let him know how thoroughly I’m fucking you.”

She couldn’t reply, not only because of his hand over her mouth, but because… gods, it felt so good. _He_ felt so fucking good. His words in her ear and his hand over her mouth shouldn’t be making her this riled up, but they were. And gods, the perfect length of his cock filling her up in a smooth rhythm while his fingers played teasingly over her nipple—

“Tamaris?” 

She froze again, this time with a rush of genuine panic. Varric’s voice was _inside_ the house. 

Behind her, Felassan went still. “He has a key?” he whispered. 

She nodded. She’d given Varric a key during their first week of living here so he could come in for emergencies. 

Felassan snorted a little laugh. Then Varric called out again, and his voice was closer than before. “Jester? Cuddles? You guys okay?”

His voice was slightly tense, and Tamaris’s heart rate ratcheted higher with panic at the nearness of Varric’s voice. If he kept coming in this direction, he’d be in the kitchen in a few seconds…

But Felassan’s arms were still around her. She wriggled in his arms and bucked her hips, then gasped into his palm as the motion inadvertently took his cock deep once more.

He groaned softly, then pulled out of her and swiftly tucked himself back into his breeches. Throbbing and incomplete and horribly embarrassed, Tamaris dragged her pants up and smoothed out her top. 

A second later, Varric stepped into the kitchen with a paper bag of groceries in his arms. His face instantly relaxed when he spotted them. “Hey, you’re here,” he said. “I was worried for…” He trailed off, and his eyes darted from Tamaris to Felassan and back. 

She cleared her throat. _Fucking fuck,_ why did her cheeks have to be burning? “Sorry,” she muttered. “We were just, um, cleaning.”

Felassan made a tiny coughing sound, and she shot him a dirty look. He was smirking and looking so calm, and it was unfair. How was it possible for him to look so fucking composed, lounging all casually against the kitchen island like he hadn’t been doing anything bad?

Varric waved a dismissive hand. “I get the picture, Cuddles. Loud and clear. I’ll just be going.” He turned on his heel and started leaving the kitchen. 

_Fuck. Fuck fuck,_ Tamaris thought. “Sorry,” she called out lamely.

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric called back. “Send me a raven when you’re, uh, ready.” A few seconds later, she heard the front door closing behind him. 

Felassan grinned at her. She scowled at him and smacked his chest. “You’re an ass,” she scolded. “A fucking rude asshole—” 

He laughed and pulled her against his chest. “You have only yourself to blame.”

She smacked him again, but she couldn’t help but soften against his body. “How the fuck is this _my_ fault?”

“You’re just too alluring,” he said. “I couldn’t resist. Besides, I think you liked it.”

She couldn’t smile. She _couldn’t_. “Yeah?” she said belligerently. “Well, you’re wrong.”

“Is that so?” he mused. “Then I guess you’re not interested in letting me finish what I started?” He curled his hips toward her, and a ripple of want flared through her body; his cock was a hard and tempting ridge in his pants.

Felassan dipped his head low to kiss her. She turned her head away to refuse his kiss, but this didn’t deter him; he just kissed her cheek instead, then dropped his lips to her neck. “You’re cruel,” he murmured, and he gently nipped her neck. “You won’t allow me to finish fucking you until you can’t stand upright?”

She pursed her lips, but there was nothing for it; his voice was bright with latent laughter, and before she knew it, she was smiling.

She forced the smile off of her face. “Fine,” she conceded grumpily. “You can fuck me. But don’t you call me a good girl.”

He laughed wickedly. “I wouldn’t dare, especially not now that you’ve been so bad. Letting Varric walk in while we’re in the midst of the act? That’s rather depraved—”

“Shut the fuck up, you brat,” she scolded, and she kissed him hard. And she didn’t let him leave the kitchen until he’d completely made it up to her. 

**************************

A few days after that regrettable incident, a rather sheepish Tamaris sent a raven to the Viscount’s Keep to invite Varric over. Late that afternoon when she opened the door to let him in, she immediately launched into an apology of sorts. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened the other day and — it was awkward and I’m sorry, but it was Felassan’s fault.”

Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “You minx. That’s entirely unfair.”

Varric waved a hand. “Forget about it. It was my fault. You should probably take this back.” He handed her his key to the house. “No key, no, um, interruptions.”

She blew out a breath. “You’re probably right. Thanks. Sorry.”

“Seriously, don’t be,” Varric insisted. “But it’s good timing that you sent that raven; I have interesting news. If you’re ready to hear it, I mean.”

She frowned slightly as she led him to the dining table. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I want to hear it?”

“Because it’s relevant to the wolf hunt,” Varric said. He sat in his usual spot across from her. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about that stuff yet.”

She hunched her shoulders guiltily. Beside her, Felassan chuckled. “Wolf hunt? An apt name for what you’re trying to do. I’m certainly interested to hear your news.” He kicked his chair back and rested his feet on the table. “I finished looking over your reports about Briala, by the way. Your dedicated seneschal can take them back if he wants.” He gave Varric a mocking smile. “I even refiled every report in the order that I found them.” 

Varric chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” he said. Then he gave Tamaris a questioning look. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she said hastily. “I’ll, uh, let’s hear the wolf hunt news. Let me just make some coffee.” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, followed by her unpleasant feeling of guilt. Had Varric really been shielding her from hearing about the search for Solas all this time?

She set a small pot of water on the stove to boil and put some coffee grounds into the Orlesian press. A moment later, Felassan wandered in. 

She took a step back and held up a warning finger. “Hands off. Don’t you dare.”

He snickered. “Don’t worry, _avise_. I’ll leave your questionable virtue intact for now.” 

She snorted a laugh, and Felassan smiled. Then he tilted his head. “What’s the matter?”

She widened her eyes. “What? Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she _tsk_ ed. It was impossible to hide anything from him. “I feel bad, okay?” she said bluntly. “I… Varric and Dorian and everyone else has been working so hard for the past year, and I just fucked off with Bull and the Chargers. I just… feel bad.”

“I think it’s fair to say they understand,” he said wryly.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t help us to stop Solas and his unknown fucked-up plans,” she retorted. In truth, though, this wasn’t the only reason she felt guilty. 

There was a loud and selfish voice in her head complaining that she didn’t _want_ to hear about the wolf hunt at all, and that just wanted to go back upstairs and curl up naked with Felassan and keep pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist. And this supremely selfish wish was what really made her feel bad. 

She poured the hot water into the pot of coffee grounds and started stirring them together. Then Felassan gestured at the Orlesian press. “Let me do that.”

She shot him an annoyed look. “I can make coffee, Felassan.”

“Did you add the cinnamon and cardamom?” he asked.

“Oh.” She grimaced. “Um…” 

He chuckled and gently pushed her aside, and she watched a little morosely as he sprinkled some ground spices into the steeping coffee before stirring it more gently than she’d been doing.

“I wish we could just go back to bed,” she said quietly. 

He looked at her, and his expression softened. He reached out and gently chucked her chin. “I’ll take you back to bed as soon as we can.” 

She shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. That wasn’t really what she’d meant, though. 

He gave her a quizzical look, but she pushed away from the counter. “I’ll go keep Varric company so he doesn’t think you’re fucking me in here again,” she said pointedly. 

Felassan smirked at her, but his eyebrows were slightly creased, and Tamaris sighed to herself as she left the kitchen. She shouldn’t have said anything about wanting to go back to bed. Now he was just going to make her talk about it later. 

_That’s a problem for later, though,_ she thought, and she sat in her usual spot at the table across from Varric. “So,” she said. “Anything exciting happen in the past few days?”

“Yep. Have a look at this.” He handed her a very slim bound volume, about twenty pages long. Curiosity piqued, Tamaris opened it and read the title.

Her eyebrows leapt up, and she looked up at Varric with wide eyes. “‘Genitivi dies at the end’? What the fuck? Is he actually dead? I feel like I would have heard about that.”

He chuckled. “It’s just a working title. The note that came along with it said the writers couldn’t agree what to title it, so they’ve left it up to me. You can start reading it if you want.” 

She flipped open the volume and began reading. A couple of minutes later, Felassan came in with a tray of three mugs of coffee and a plate of slightly-stale amandine croissants that he’d made yesterday. 

He handed out the coffee and peered at the book in Tamaris’s hands. “What is that?”

“A short story about…” She trailed off distractedly, then looked up at Varric with wide eyes. “An expedition to find a piece of the Vir Dirthara?”

Felassan looked up sharply, but Varric shook his head. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think that’s what they found. The books they recovered don’t sound like the ones that were in that Vir Dirthara place — sounds like they’re regular books. Could have just been a piece of some other ancient elf library that got stuck underground somehow when Chuckles put up the Veil.”

Tamaris turned to Felassan. “Did you have regular books in the olden days?”

“Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t we?”

She stared at him, genuinely surprised. “But you told me the ancient elvhen smut was all written in memories like the Vir Dirthara!”

“Wait, seriously?” Varric said.

“The best of it was, but not all,” Felassan said. He snickered. “Can you imagine? My people would have never gotten anything done otherwise. And besides, for some people, the smut crafted from memories and fantasies rather than words was too… overwhelming, shall we say.” 

Tamaris scoffed, and Varric ruefully shook his head. “Fair enough, I guess. At any rate, it sounds like the books they found were normal ones, not, uh, memory-based ones. So I don’t know that it was really a part of the Vir Dirthara.” He pulled a little face. “For all we know, the texts they brought back could be children’s books or recipe books or something. But Laudine seemed to think they were useful, and it sounds like Genitivi had a little existential crisis over it, so–”

“ _The_ Genitivi?” Felassan interrupted. “You mean the Chantry scholar whose work somehow seems to be the backbone of all of Thedosian history?”

“That’s the one,” Varric said.

Felassan held up a hand. A slow smile was creeping over his face. “You’re telling me that Genitivi went on an expedition to find a secret piece of an ancient elvhen library?”

“Him and two other writers,” Varric said. “And a Lord of Fortune for backup.”

Felassan chuckled and folded his arms. “Three writers and a mercenary walk into a library…”

Varric smirked. “Exactly what I was thinking. It’s a perfect set-up.”

Tamaris lifted her cup of coffee. “You know what would be really funny? If the Randy Dowager was one of the writers who’d gone on the trip.”

Varric laughed, and Felassan’s smile widened. “Randy Dowager? What kind of delight is this?”

Varric answered for her. “The Randy Dowager is the most famous smut writer in Thedas. More famous than me in some circles.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Sounds intriguing. Can you get me some of her work?”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed and poked his arm. “You’re so fucking shameless.”

He playfully tweaked a lock of her hair. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy having me read it out loud to you.”

Embarrassed, she ducked her head. “Shut up,” she muttered.

Varric sighed and selected a croissant from the plate. “Andraste’s ass, the pair of you…”

Tamaris muttered something indistinct while Felassan laughed. “No need to feel left out, my friend. I can read out loud to you too.”

Tamaris tutted and smacked his leg, and Varric huffed. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Anyway, here’s basically what happened…” He quickly gave them the broad strokes of the ‘mission’, so to speak: that Brother Genitivi, Philliam, a Bard!, and another lesser-known but infamous writer named Formerly Sister Laudine had formed a reluctant team to recover books from an elvhen library that, for some reason, was underground in Tevinter. The mission had been cut short by the appearance of a qunari named Rasaan, and the writers had just managed to stuff a few elvhen tomes into their satchels before narrowly escaping from Rasaan and her soldiers. 

Tamaris sighed, her brief moment of light-heartedness forgotten. “Shit. Qunari? What were they doing there? Was this Rasaan person part of the invasion into Ventus?”

“Probably,” Varric said. “She said she was from the antaam, which is the military branch of the qunari.”

Tamaris frowned. “That’s weird though, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it usually be someone from the priesthood branch who’s looking for an elvhen library like that?”

Varric shrugged. “Maybe the priesthood is on probation or something after the Viddasala went rogue in the eluvians during the Exalted Council.”

“Excuse me,” Felassan complained. “You’re spoiling the ending of _This Shit Is Weird_ for me.”

Varric gave him a chiding look. “I still can’t believe you haven’t finished that yet.”

Felassan smirked roguishly. “We’ve been busy.”

“Felassan,” Tamaris hissed.

He grinned unrepentantly, and Varric rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.” 

“My pleasure,” Felassan said. “But in all seriousness, I will finish it this week. You have my word.”

“Don’t finish it on my account,” Varric said dryly.

“Not at all,” Felassan said more seriously. “I’m genuinely interested. I’ll soon be reading your adventures at the Temple of Mythal.”

Varric huffed in amusement. “Great. I’ll make sure to brace myself for that discussion.”

Felassan chuckled. Tamaris, meanwhile, was frowning into her coffee cup. Felassan tapped her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

She shrugged moodily. “I was just thinking… we could really use some qunari allies.”

“We’re working on that,” Varric said soothingly. “Or Alistair is, at least.”

Tamaris blinked at him cluelessly for a second. Then she remembered. “Oh, right. He made an alliance between Ferelden and the qunari a while back, right?”

Felassan huffed. “That seems to have held up well.”

Tamaris poked him in rebuke, and Varric shrugged. “It’s better than nothing,” he said reasonably. “Any port in a storm, right? No luck getting in touch with the Arishok so far, but with the, uh, active invasion going on in the Imperium, might be that the qunari aren’t accepting mail.”

Tamaris nodded grimly. “So what’s the next step? Send some spies into qunari lines?”

“You got it,” Varric said. “Nightingale’s looking into it.”

Felassan tilted his head. “She’ll be asking the Hero of Ferelden to be one of them, I presume.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, and Felassan shrugged. “It’s a reasonable choice. Warden Mahariel and the current Arishok travelled together during the time of the Fifth Blight, from what I recall.”

Varric shook his head and chuckled. “You spies. Yeah, you’re right. Mahariel might be able to sneak her way into qunari ranks, see what’s going on.” He looked at Tamaris. “She’s a stealth fighter like you, so hopefully she can make contact with the Arishok without having to disguise herself as a qunari convert.”

Tamaris nodded, but couldn’t help but brood about the idea of calling the Hero of Ferelden in for such a dangerous mission. _You’d think she’d done enough by ending the Fifth Blight with Alistair,_ Tamaris thought grimly. But when the world was going to shit, it seemed that there was no rest to be had for anyone. 

“Anyway,” Varric said, “the reason I brought this all up is that the expedition was a success. Some books in Elvhen should be coming my way within the month. So I was thinking…” He glanced expectantly at Felassan.

Felassan smirked and laced his fingers behind his head. “I sense a favour about to be asked.”

Varric smiled faintly. “We could get scholars to translate them, but it would take years. And we’d probably still get stuff wrong.” 

“Are you officially inviting me to join your wolf hunt?” Felassan asked.

“I guess I am, yeah,” Varric said. “Why, did you have other plans?”

“I haven’t a single plan in this head of mine,” Felassan said cheerfully. 

Tamaris looked at him in surprise. “Not even about Briala?” she asked. She and Felassan actually hadn’t spoken of Briala since the day he’d gone through the intelligence reports.

“Oh, I have ideas,” he said. “But no plans yet, no.”

“So you’ll do it, then?” Varric asked.

“Ah, why not,” Felassan said. “It will be nice to read something in my own tongue again, even if it isn’t smut.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” he said with a wink.

Tamaris smiled faintly at him. Then Varric snapped his fingers. “Oh, another thing — I got a letter from Hawke, too.”

She nodded a little listlessly. “What’s happening with her and Fenris?”

Varric chuckled. “In her words, they’ve met up with ‘a new group of lovable misfits’. Travelling companions who have similar goals, it sounds like. And as luck would have it, one of them is actually a friend of mine, an elf named Vaea.”

Felassan smiled and shook his head. “ _Fenedhis_. You really do know everyone, don’t you?”

“All part of the job,” Varric said with a casual little wave. “Or the dwarven charm — take your pick. Anyway, from the last thing this letter said, they were on their way to track down a magister named Nenealeus, who’s apparently been experimenting with red lyrium.”

Tamaris straightened. “Red lyrium in Tevinter?”

Varric nodded. He looked somber now. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

She exhaled heavily. “Fuck.” She rubbed her forehead, then scraped her fingers through her hair. “Fuck! This is my fault, isn’t it?”

“How do you figure?” Varric asked.

She slumped back in her chair and angrily waved her hand. “I should have just made that qunari alliance back in the Inquisition days. It was to take down a Venatori red lyrium smuggling ring, remember? But I refused to ally with them. If I’d made the alliance, maybe the red lyrium wouldn’t have gotten to the fucking Imperium.”

Varric tilted his head sympathetically. “Honestly, Cuddles, it was going to get there sooner or later. Making that alliance would’ve just been delaying the inevitable. And the Chargers would all be dead if you’d done it.”

“I know, I know…” She sighed loudly and rubbed her temples. 

“Also,” Varric said, “this isn’t the only time this year that red lyrium’s come up in the Imperium, remember?”

She lifted her head from her hands. “What do you mean?”

Varric’s eyebrows rose. “Dorian didn’t tell you?”

A cold seed of dread took root in her gut. “Didn’t tell me what?”

“Oh.” Varric pulled a little face and tugged his earring. “He knows the details better than I do. Let’s give him a call.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Tamaris muttered. “Fine, all right. I’ll get the fucking crystal.”

“I’ll get it,” Felassan said. He swung his feet down from the table and tapped her hand. “You relax. Breathe,” he added with a faint smile.

She scowled at him, then rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, and Felassan squeezed her arm before heading for the stairs. She shoved her hair back from her face and folded her arms, then met Varric’s gaze.

“Ugh, _what?_ ” she demanded. “Why is everyone staring at me today like my puppy died or something?”

“You’re sick of this shit,” he said softly. “I get it. Really, I do.”

“I know you do,” she snapped. “And that’s the problem. You’ve been carrying all this shit for a whole year since Solas made his big fucking reveal, so stop feeling sorry for me. I have no right to complain.”

Varric propped his elbows on the table. “It’s going to be okay, Cuddles.”

“How can you say that after everything we know?” she demanded. 

He shrugged. “Eh, maybe I’m just desensitized to it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I thought that ‘this crisis’ is it. That ‘this specific disaster’ is the one that’s going to end the whole world. I mean, the Breach was pretty bad, and even that got fixed. Twice.”

 _This is different,_ she thought. This time, their enemy wasn’t a raving religious idiot. Solas was intelligent, capable of coldness, and as Felassan repeatedly pointed out, he was practically dripping with thousands of years of guilty obligation to tear their world down. And he was fucking powerful to boot. He hadn’t even been carrying a staff when Tamaris had last seen him, and even with her limited magical knowledge, she knew that petrifying a dozen qunari in a glance had to require an enormous wealth of power. 

Her stomach roiled with anxiety — and not a little anger. Then Varric’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Tamaris?”

She jolted and looked at him, then frowned at his faintly worried expression. “I’m fine. I mean it,” she said brusquely. “Let’s just hear what Dorian has to say.”

Varric nodded. A moment later, Felassan dropped into the chair beside her and handed her the sending crystal.

“Thanks,” she said. She rubbed the crystal with her thumb, and Dorian answered a minute later.

“ _Avanna_ , my friend,” he said warmly. “I hope you’re enjoying your well-earned love nest.”

Felassan grinned and Varric sighed good-naturedly, but Tamaris wasn’t in the mood for banter. “I’m not alone,” she said. “Varric and Felassan are with me. Varric mentioned something about red lyrium being used in Tevinter?”

Dorian’s tone was serious when he replied. “Ah. He must be thinking of the wigmaker’s party in Vyrantium.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The what?”

Dorian sighed. “Vyrantium is essentially the fashion capital of Tevinter. There was a particular wigmaker there, a magister named Ambrose Forfex, who hosted a very elite event — a fashion show to display his wigs.”

“Wigs,” she said blankly. “A show to display wigs?”

Dorian let out a dry little laugh. “Believe me, I know how odd it sounds. But they weren’t ordinary wigs. The hair was collected from slaves who were being fed an infusion of red lyrium, which imbued the hair with magical properties that allowed Forfex to mold them into elaborate shapes.”

“How the fuck did he get his hands on red lyrium?” she demanded.

“The fact that he was a Venatori probably had something to do with it,” Dorian said wryly.

Felassan clicked his tongue. “How delightful.”

“Mm, quite,” Dorian said. “All’s well that ends well, however. Forfex is dead.”

“What happened?” Tamaris said.

“A contract by the Antivan Crows,” Dorian replied. “It’s odd, though. If I didn’t have it on good authority that it had been orchestrated by the Crows, I would have thought it was righteous revenge.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“The party ended in a complete bloodbath,” he explained. “A swarm of demons escaped from the chamber where the slaves were being kept. They rampaged through the party and possessed the wig models and a number of the guests, then started killing everyone in sight. The magister himself became an abomination, then was attacked by his own possessed slaves and ultimately killed.”

Tamaris nodded brusquely. That was something, at least. “How the fuck are the Venatori getting red lyrium into Tevinter?”

Dorian’s answer was exactly what she feared. “Smuggling routes, I’m afraid,” he said. “We are tracking them as we can.”

 _This was my fault, then,_ she thought. She sighed and impatiently ran her hand through her hair. “ _Fenedhis lasa._ This is a fucking nightmare.”

“It feels more like _ena’salasha sil’lam_ to me,” Felassan remarked.

“What’s that?” Tamaris asked.

“It’s that uncanny sense you have when you could swear you have lived a particular moment in time already.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I suppose it just goes to show: some things change enormously, and some things don’t change at all, whether you are elvhen or not.”

Tamaris looked at him with growing concern. His tone was light, but his words were heavy with implication, and his expression was sinking into that look — that anachronistic mask of ineffable world-weariness that made her so uneasy.

Varric clearly heard the implication, too. “Uh-oh,” he said grimly. “You’re going to tell us something we’re not going to like, aren’t you?”

Felassan offered him a small smile. “I have been known to do that, yes. But let’s save it for when I’m finished your book.” He waved at the sending crystal. “I’m too busy enjoying these informative updates.” 

“I’d rather like an update from you, in fact,” Dorian said. “Tamaris mentioned that you had an idea in mind for the use of those sending crystals?”

“Ah, the crystals,” Felassan said. “Thank you for those, by the way.”

“Of course,” Dorian said.

Tamaris scoffed quietly, and Felassan grinned at her before going on. “I had a thought that perhaps we might be able to use them to tap into the… frequency, so to speak, of an undamaged eluvian,” he said, “and perhaps turn the crystals into keystones. If we were able to hack the eluvian network, we could start infiltrating Fen’Harel’s operations.”

“Well, that’s wonderfully devious,” Dorian said keenly. “Let me know if you need another mind on that. It sounds fascinating.”

“I’ll let you know,” Felassan said. “I’ll see how far my sad muted magic gets me on my own.”

Tamaris frowned at his self-insult. His magic was getting better every day. Before she could point this out, Dorian was speaking again. “You said ‘we’. Are you officially joining the wolf hunt, then?”

Felassan smiled at Tamaris. “I’m growing fond of this ‘wolf hunt’ term. I do so enjoy making matters of life and death sound like a caper.”

She managed a weak smile as Varric answered Dorian’s question. “Yeah, he’s joining us. He made me sweat, though.”

Felassan kicked his feet up on the table once more. “It just made it all the sweeter when I said yes, didn’t it?”

Varric huffed. “If you say so.”

Felassan chuckled, then tilted his head. “A month before those Elvhen books come, though… That’s a decent pocket of time.”

“For what?” Tamaris said.

“To try and contact Briala, wherever she may be.”

Tamaris perked up. “You think she’s alive, then?”

Dorian replied before Felassan could. “You two haven’t talked about this already? It’s been a week since we last spoke.”

“They were busy,” Varric said, very dryly.

Felassan laughed while Tamaris shot Varric a threatening look — which Dorian, of course, couldn’t see. “Oh, were they?” he said cheerfully. “That’s so sweet I can feel my teeth rotting. And to think you ignored me when I asked about your love nest earlier.”

“We had Inquisition business to talk about, remember?” she said snarkily.

“It’s not Inquisition business anymore,” Dorian said gently.

“Yeah, well, it feels like it is,” she retorted.

There was a brief pause, but it was long enough for Tamaris to feel guilty for snapping. She dragged her hand through her hair. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m… just being a bitch. Ignore me.” She turned to Felassan and tried to ignore the sympathy in his eyes. “What were you thinking about Briala?”

“Well, she was recruited by Fen’Harel,” Felassan said.

Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “She was? You’re sure?”

“It’s the most logical choice,” he said. For Dorian’s benefit, he elaborated. “Fen’Harel’s agents were involved in pushing her out of power in Orlais. His agents also spread positive rumours about him amongst her cells — enough to draw her attention and to take them seriously. He would have relied on the reputation I’d given him to lull her into working with him, if not entirely trusting him.”

“And taking the eluvians from her?” Tamaris said. “Do you think she gave them to him, then, if she was working with him?”

He laughed. “Oh, no. Briala would never give away such a powerful advantage, not without good reason.”

Tamaris frowned worriedly. “So you do think Solas took them from her by force?”

Felassan sighed. “I think it more likely that she had no choice but to give them to him. He wouldn’t have employed anything so crass as an overt threat or force. What probably happened is that they became mutually suspicious of each other.” 

“Why would they become suspicious of each other?” Dorian asked.

“Because of me, ironically,” Felassan said. “Even as a Tranquil, I made problems for both of them.” A slow smile lit his face, and he let out a snort of laughter. “Who would have thought a single Tranquil could cause so many problems?”

“You didn’t cause problems,” Tamaris said fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He shrugged casually. “Regardless, here is what likely happened: Briala joined Fen’Harel’s ranks. She would have expected me to be among them; she’s a clever woman, and she would have figured out by then that I was his agent. But when she saw no evidence of me, she would start to become suspicious that something had happened to me, and that he played a role in it.” Felassan gestured playfully with his hands as he went on. “ _He_ would be suspicious of _her_ from the start since he knew of my ties with her. _She_ would have been forced to tell _him_ of the eluvians in order to remain in his good graces, but _he_ also would have to tread carefully around _her_ since she knew him from the Inquisition.” He chuckled. “I can practically see the cycle of suspicion growing tighter around both of them like a noose. What a terrible discomfort that must have been.”

“So where do you think she is now?” Tamaris asked.

“Frankly, she could be anywhere,” Felassan said. “And I’m still not certain whether I think she is maintaining the appearance of working for Fen’Harel, or whether she’s openly abdicated and is on the run.” He sighed. “In truth, I am also not entirely certain that she isn’t dead.”

Tamaris frowned sympathetically, but Felassan’s expression was businesslike when he looked over at Varric. “Do you have any spies among Fen’Harel’s people?”

“Fewer than we’d like,” Varric admitted. “Chuckles is really cautious, as you said.”

“I expected as much,” Felassan said. “Still, if I could speak to one of them, that would be helpful.”

Tamaris stared at him in alarm. “You want to talk to one of them? Is that a good idea?”

He smiled charmingly at her. “Worried for me, are you?”

“Obviously,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want him finding out that you’re alive.”

“It’s a calculated risk, _avise_ ,” he said gently.

She pursed her lips and didn’t reply. She didn’t like it, but it was his choice.

“All right,” Varric said. “I’ll see what I can set up, but it could take a while.”

Felassan nodded, and Dorian spoke from the crystal. “Are you hoping to bring her back over to our side?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, to Tamaris’s surprise. “I would aim to inform her fully so she can act of her own accord. Give her the tools to strike hard where she can do the most good.”

Dorian voiced Tamaris’s troubled thoughts. “And if she chooses to strike in Solas’s favour? What then?”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Felassan said philosophically. Then he snorted a laugh. “Actually, I suppose it could contribute to that. Oh well, let’s just hope that doesn't happen.”

Tamaris gazed at him with some exasperation. Once again, he was planning to take an indirect and convoluted route instead of being straightforward. “Why don’t you just ask her to join the wolf hunt?” she asked. “If she knows you’re on our side, I’m sure she’d come back.”

Felassan shook his head. “I taught her to use logic to further her goals. Winning her over with sentiment would cheapen her.”

Tamaris frowned. _Sentiment?_ she thought. Did Felassan really think that shallow sentimentality was all that tied him and Briala together? “You think that appealing to her relationship with you would cheapen her?” she asked cautiously.

“I think that she shouldn’t decide her fate based on her relationship with me,” he replied.

For some reason, his words made something cold twist up in her gut. She leaned back in her chair and didn’t reply.

Dorian spoke again from the crystal, and his tone was slightly tentative. “Tamaris, are you… Does this mean you’re officially rejoining the wolf hunt, too?”

She heaved a heavy sigh. It wasn’t as though she had a choice. Besides, she’d been avoiding this for long enough. “Yeah. I’m in,” she said grudgingly. “I don’t really have any plans or anything yet, though.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian said. Then his voice became jovial once more. “Well, it’s good to have you back. And welcome to Felassan, of course. If I was there, I would say we should have some cake to celebrate.”

“I’ll bake one in your honour,” Felassan said with a smile.

“Excellent. Make it dark chocolate. That’s my favourite,” Dorian said. “Well, I must get back to it. We’ll speak again soon.” 

They all murmured their goodbyes. The glowing crystal went dark, and a brief silence ensued. 

Varric raised his eyebrows and started to rise from his seat. “Well, um, I’d better be going—”

“No, don’t go,” Tamaris said hastily. “Stay for dinner and cards.”

“You sure?” he said hesitantly.

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “We haven’t seen you in almost a week. Stay.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Varric said. He sat back down, but his eyes darted between her and Felassan, and she couldn’t blame him; she was studiously not looking at Felassan, after all.

Felassan rose to his feet. “I’ll get dinner started,” he said, and he smiled at Tamaris. “What do you feel like tonight, _avise_?”

She shrugged and gazed fixedly at her coffee cup. “I don’t care. Anything’s good.”

“Even kale salad?” he said playfully. 

She scoffed and shot him a brief glance. He knew she hated kale. “Uh-huh. Nice try,” she said flatly. “There’s no fucking kale in the house.”

“Unfortunate but true,” he said pleasantly, and he wandered away to the kitchen. Once he was gone, Tamaris sighed.

“You wanna talk about it?” Varric said quietly.

“No,” she said curtly. “There’s nothing to talk about.” And for once, she wasn’t trying to deflect or push him away. She didn’t want to talk because she didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling angry at Felassan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my thumb slipped and there’s ANGST AGAIN. I’ll fix it though, don’t worry!
> 
> In case anyone’s curious: yes, the Mahariel in this world state is [Yara from _Fall Into The Tide._](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883052/chapters/57414295) [sobs in Qunlat] On a related note, I came up with a theory/future predictions about the qunari and the Arishok (STENNYSTEN…) while writing this chapter, which you can see [on Tumblr ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/626796003257909248/pikapeppa-wears-a-tinfoil-hat-the-arishok-in) if you want. 
> 
> As always, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who would like to say hello!


	22. Felandaris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter this week, I'm afraid! 😭 At least it's a long one though! Have some feels! And more smut.  
> Re: the smut — some very gentle dom!Felassan undertones. I almost named this chapter “good girl”. Just… FYI.

Later that night, Tamaris sat cross-legged on her bed massaging the stump of her left arm while Felassan and Varric played cards downstairs. The dinner conversation that night kept on routing back to wolf hunt business, and Tamaris had forced herself to tolerate it largely out of guilt. Every possible effort was needed in their efforts against Solas, so there was no excuse anymore to keep her head buried in the sand. 

By the time they’d finished eating and Varric had broken out his pack of cards, Tamaris was feeling too irritable to be of good company, even though she’d been the one to invite Varric to stay. And unfortunately, the main source of her good mood these days — namely, Felassan — was partly to blame for her bad mood. 

She’d eventually excused herself on the premise of wanting some time to process everything she’d heard today. When Varric offered to leave, she insisted very firmly that he stay to play with Felassan, then blithely ignored Felassan’s frown and swiftly made her way up to her bedroom to be alone.

So here she sat, alone on her bed kneading her arm while she brooded over the words Felassan had said: _she shouldn’t decide her fate based on her relationship with me._

Tamaris knew he’d been talking about Briala and not about her, but _still_. Briala was Felassan’s protegée. She was the person he’d known the longest and been the closest to in all the time he’d been awake. For fuck’s sake, he’d gone against the wishes of a man he’d known for thousands of years and had once deeply loved, all for Briala’s sake.

And despite all of that, Felassan still considered his relationship with Briala to be ‘sentimental’. He felt that his relationship with her wasn’t a good enough reason for her to do anything.

Did that mean he didn’t want Tamaris to consider their relationship as an important factor, either? Worse yet, maybe it meant _he_ wasn’t going to consider his relationship with Tamaris when he was making his decisions about what to do next. What if he was planning to go and find Briala, but wasn’t planning to ask Tamaris to come along?

That thought had been curdling in her belly all night. She felt wrongfooted somehow, as though a certainty she’d been assuming was being pulled out from under her. She’d assumed that whatever happened next, she and Felassan would do it together — at the very least because she was helping to curb his outbursts and to control his magic, but primarily because of how she felt about him. Without asking him, without really talking about it, she’d been imagining them travelling together once travelling became necessary, assuming this was just naturally something they would do.

But now, to hear him say that Briala ‘shouldn’t decide her fate based on her relationship with me’... If he didn’t think relationships should be factored into decisions about the future, then how much did Tamaris matter to him, really?

She felt stupid. Humiliated. And of course she should feel stupid, because she was making this same fucking mistake _again_. She’d fallen in love with Felassan, thought their relationship was really something special — more special than any other relationship she’d had before, how _stupid_ was she – and now he wasn’t even thinking about her in his decisions about what to do next? 

She scowled at the ceiling to ward back the burning feeling in her eyes. Really, it only served her right for putting so much stock into someone she’d known for less than two months. This was what she deserved for acting like a lovestruck romance novel heroine and planning a future around Felassan even though he’d never talked about any kind of future with her. 

She continued to massage her arm for a moment longer, then slid off of the bed and padded over to the dresser. She flipped open the little box of joints on the dresser and reached for one of the deep mushroom-infused joints Felassan had made for her. But before she could pick it up, she paused. 

After a second of thought, she selected one of her own plain elfroot-and-embrium joints instead. If Felassan was planning to leave her behind, then she’d better get re-accustomed to life without him. 

The lump in her throat swelled, and she swallowed hard. She held the joint between her lips, then struck a match on the ridged side of the box and lit the joint before returning to sit cross-legged on the bed. 

She rubbed her shortened arm and smoked her joint and sat there feeling generally shitty and betrayed. A minute later, Felassan opened the door and walked in. 

She shot him a brief glance, then dropped her eyes to her lap. “What are you doing here?” she mumbled around her joint.

“Joining you in bed,” he said as he sat beside her. “Varric left.”

“What about your card game?” she asked.

“It wasn’t the same without your lovely scowl,” he replied.

She scowled and kneaded her arm some more. She was on the verge of telling him she wanted to be left alone, but she already knew he wouldn’t leave without trying to make her talk.

He took the joint from her mouth. “Is your arm hurting?” he asked, and he took a drag from the joint. 

She shook her head and continued to rub it. “Not pain this time. Pins and needles.” 

“‘Pins and needles’,” Felassan said musingly. He pulled from the joint again and released the smoke along with his words. “I’ve always found that to be an odd expression. I far prefer the ancient Elvhen term.”

She didn’t want to talk about this, but it seemed she had no choice. “What’s the ancient Elvhen term?” she said grudgingly.

“ _Naslahna’miol dur seithe,_ ” he said. “It means ‘ants under the skin’. It’s far more accurate, and with a nice unpleasant visual to match.”

She grunted and continued to massage her stump. Felassan tucked the joint between his lips and reached for her arm. “May I?”

She shirked away. “No,” she said.

His eyebrows rose slightly, and she forced her voice to soften to something less belligerent. “No thank you. I can massage my own arm.” She gazed vacantly at the opposite wall. 

A moment later, Felassan stood up, and Tamaris watched resentfully as he extinguished the half-smoked joint on the small golden dish on the dresser. He returned to the bed and sat beside her, and a moment later, his hand smoothed over her hair. 

To her horror, a burn of tears surged at the back of her eyes. _Don’t you dare fucking cry,_ she threatened herself, and she glared viciously at the wall to keep the tears at bay. But Felassan’s hand was sliding over the nape of her neck and her shoulder, and when his palm drifted down toward the stump of her arm, a treacherous tear escaped her eye. 

Furious at herself, she bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her eyes to stare at the ceiling. When Felassan’s other hand joined the first to gently squeeze the stump of her arm, she gave in and dropped her right hand to her lap.

He began massaging her arm slowly and firmly, rubbing one thumb against the end of her stump with a soothing circular rub, and Tamaris closed her eyes and tried hard to ignore the swelling ache in her chest. 

“You’re angry at me,” Felassan said quietly. 

_Yes,_ she thought. But how could she explain what she was angry about without admitting how much she cared for him? Because she couldn’t admit _that_ now, not after what he’d said. 

She said nothing, and Felassan went on. “Your silence means I’m right. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t smoking one of the joints I made for you.”

 _Fucking spy,_ she thought peevishly. Why did he have to be so good at putting details together?

He was still talking in a soft, thoughtful tone. “What are you angry about, I wonder? It was something I said while we were speaking with Dorian. You started pulling back just before he ended the call.” He tilted his head curiously. “Something about Briala, then?”

“Stop it,” she snapped. 

“Stop what?”

“Treating me like a mark,” she said irritably. “Stop analyzing me!”

“I would love to stop analyzing you,” he said. “Now, if only I had a more direct source of information.” He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps if you told me what I’ve done wrong?” 

She shot him a dirty look, then gazed at her lap while trying to find the best way to explain this without exposing how horribly vulnerable she felt. “You said…” She licked her dry lips. “You said Briala’s relationship with you shouldn’t matter in what she does next.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. 

Her heart twisted painfully. “So you think that the people in your life shouldn’t matter when you’re deciding what to do?”

He raised his eyebrows, then laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

Her ears heated with anger and humiliation. “If you think Briala shouldn’t consider you in her plans, then that means you wouldn’t consider _her_ in yours, but she was the person you cared about the most for sixteen fucking years. So if _she_ doesn’t matter, then–” Tamaris broke off. Her feelings were bubbling too close to the surface, and she didn’t dare let them spill from her mouth now, not when she felt so fucking raw.

Felassan quirked an eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain you aren’t Briala in disguise.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Obviously not.”

“Then I’m not sure why you think my statement about Briala would apply to you and I,” he said.

“But she’s the most important person to you,” Tamaris said. “In this world, at least.”

“She was, yes,” he said.

Tamaris swallowed hard. “So if you don’t give a fuck about what your most important person does—”

Felassan held up a hand to stop her. “You’re putting words in my mouth, _avise_. You make it sound as though I tossed her aside, or that I am dismissing my history with her. But the truth is this: I always knew Briala and I would part ways eventually, even before Fen’Harel tasked me with taking control of the eluvians.” He went back to massaging her arm. “Briala was my _da’len_ : my protegée and student. But students should never stay with their teachers forever. There should always come a time when they strike out on their own. Had I remained with Briala, she would never have become the independent force of will that she needed to be in order to mold the Emperor of Orlais the way she did.”

“But what if she’s in trouble now?” Tamaris demanded.

“Even if I was capable of acting, it is not my place to swoop in and rescue her,” Felassan said. “She is perfectly capable of rescuing herself. Once we make contact with her and indicate that there are resources at her disposal, she will make use of them as she sees fit.”

Tamaris studied him for a moment. “You’re really confident about her.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “ _I_ was her teacher, after all.”

His lips were quirked mischievously. Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Cocky,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “In all seriousness, I watched her grow for sixteen years. I know what she can do. She doesn’t need me to carry out her plans.”

Tamaris silently turned his words over in her mind. So… so it was his confidence in Briala’s cleverness that made him say she shouldn’t consider Felassan in her decisions, as well as his status as her teacher. 

That meant that when he’d made that comment about Briala, he really had just meant Briala. He hadn’t been making a veiled reference to Tamaris.

She ran her hand through her hair. “ _Fenedhis_. I’m so… forget I said anything. This was stupid.”

“It was not stupid,” he said. “But I would like to know what made you think what I was talking about us.”

She shrugged and stared at her lap. “I… I don’t know,” she said. And she meant it; she really didn’t know why she’d jumped from ‘Briala can make her own decisions’ to ‘Felassan doesn’t care if I’m around or not’.

His hands were still carefully kneading her arm. His tenderness and patience were so obvious in the careful pressure of his fingers in her skin, and this only made her feel stupider for getting so angry.

She shrugged again, irritated now with herself and not with him. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t do that,” Felassan said. “Not when you’ve dropped this mystery in my lap. I have to unravel it now.”

“It’s not a mystery,” she muttered. “I was just being… paranoid. Stupid.”

“You are neither paranoid nor stupid,” he said. When he didn’t speak again for a few long seconds, Tamaris shot him a cautious glance. 

His expression was thoughtful. “I think you are understandably wary, given what happened with Fen’Harel,” he said. 

She frowned. “What do you mean? I mean, which part?”

“The part where he left, even though you thought you and he would spend your lives together.”

Her chest seized. Was that really it? Was it really Solas coming back yet again to bite her in the ass?

“You expect betrayal,” Felassan said quietly. “You expect me to leave, even though I’ve shown no signs of wanting to do so.”

Fuck, her eyes were burning. She bit her lips hard and turned her face away, but Felassan released her arm and shifted to sit in front of her on the bed. 

He peered carefully at her. “I can’t fix this with words, Tamaris.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” she snapped.

“I know you aren’t,” he said calmly. “But remember that it will be fixed with time.” He smiled faintly. “Time that you spend being unable to escape my clever remarks and my unshakeable air of ancient wisdom.”

“Why?” she burst out.

“Why what?” he asked.

“Why do you bother?” she demanded. “I’m so fucking pissy. Why are you bothering?”

His expression melted into that tender look that made her heart flip. “Are you asking me to list all of your many irresistible traits?”

She _tsk_ ed. “No, of course not!”

“I could, if you want,” he said. “But I suspect you’d just call me full of shit if I tried.”

She scowled at him. “Seriously. I’m only going to get worse when we start doing more wolf hunt shit.”

“Worse in what way?”

“More cranky,” she said. “More mean. I was no fun as the Inquisitor, especially toward the end. Dorian said I could be ‘terrifying’.”

“I imagine you were,” Felassan said. “I imagine it was a sight to behold.”

“That’s not a good thing!” she retorted. “It’s — what if — I’ll start being a bitch all the time and being angry and I won’t be fun anymore, and I don’t–” She broke off with a sudden sob. 

She pressed her lips together hard to stop her tears. Then Felassan stroked her hair. “Come here,” he murmured, and he gathered her into his lap. 

Tamaris squinched her face up to stop herself from crying, to no avail; another sob escaped her. “I wish we could just stay here in bed,” she said plaintively. “I’m fucking tired, Felassan. And we haven’t even fucking done anything yet. And I know I must sound like a spoiled brat considering everything you went through for Solas and — gods, you were Tranquil for five years. I should really just shut the fuck up.” She tried to push herself out of his arms.

He tightened his arms around her instead. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t indulge me!” she yelled. “Don’t treat me like I’m special! Everyone’s suffering, okay? Everyone’s tired.” She waved her shortened arm in a vague angry gesture. “Varric’s tired, Dorian’s tired, and no one’s coddling them. I’m not special!” 

“Tamaris,” Felassan said calmly, “shut that lovely mouth of yours and let me hold you.” 

She glared at him. His expression was both sympathetic and implacable, and Tamaris finally slumped against his chest with ill grace. 

He wrapped his arms around her but didn’t speak, and she eventually closed her eyes. She felt exhausted but edgy, like she could sleep for an entire day if only her nerves would calm down enough for her to relax. But her heart felt like it was shivering in her chest, and her left arm was still tingling with discomfort.

She took a slow and measured breath. Felassan’s sleepy-soapy scent filled her lungs, and her heart swelled painfully. It was selfish and spoiled, but she really wished they could have a little bit more time to just _be_ like this. This whole month with him had been like a suspended state of bliss: almost like a crossroads of sorts, a private place-between-places only for herself and Felassan, and she was scared of what would happen when they emerged from this sacred space. She was scared of what she would become when she was forced once again into a role of responsibility. 

_You could be quite terrifying._ Dorian’s words had not at all been intended to hurt, but Tamaris couldn't help but repeat them in her mind like a malediction. She liked to think this past month had helped her let go of some of that hardness and rage, but if her current mood was any indication, maybe all that ugly isolating anger would come rushing back as soon as she was tasked with something to do. And if she did become hard and angry again, what would Felassan think of her? When she wasn’t soft and relaxed, bumming around and smoking and laughing, would Felassan still want to be with her? 

When she and Felassan were pulled out of the dreamy idyll of this house and back into the ugly reality of the outside world, would he still want her?

She clenched her jaw to hold the tears at bay. This shouldn’t _matter_ this fucking much. She and Felassan hadn’t known each other for long enough for him to mean so much to her, and she couldn’t help but feel pathetic and angry at herself for giving this much of a shit. 

“You’re going to crack your teeth if you don’t relax,” he told her.

She shot him a dirty look, but he ignored her and ran his fingers through her hair. “Speak, Tamaris. Tell me what’s happening in this head of yours.”

She ground her teeth together for a moment longer, then finally spat it out. “You’re going to get sick of me.”

“Impossible,” he said.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I’m going to become a bitch again once I have to start doing things for the Inquis– I mean, for the wolf hunt, and you’re going to get sick of my shit.”

Felassan chuckled.

Stung, Tamaris leaned away from him slightly. “What’s so fucking funny?” she demanded.

“I have a story,” he said.

She scoffed. “Of course you do.”

“Can I tell the story or not?” he said wryly.

“Go ahead,” she said grumpily.

He stroked her hair again. “It’s a story of how I first started experimenting with felandaris,” he said. “Most people see felandaris as a rather unsightly plant, you know. The thorns, the leafless twisting stems: it’s hardly a plant you would find in a cultivated garden, either in my time or yours. But I was immediately interested in it. It’s hardy enough to thrive in precisely those places where the Veil is thin — in other words, the most turbulent places in the world. So I thought to myself: if felandaris thrives in those places, fraught with the snap of magic that is just slightly too far away to reach, what other impressive qualities would this plant hold?” He smoothed his hand slowly along her arm. “So I experimented with it. I ground up the thorns and inhaled them, hence the entertaining hallucinations. I shaved off the thorns and the outer peel and tried chewing on the stalks, which gave me boils on my tongue. I tried various things: drying it and mixing it with other compounds and using it in various ways. And the more I learned, the more I came to appreciate it, because I discovered what felandaris is capable of. It blocks one’s access to the Fade during sleep. It can be used as a poison and as an antidote. In a diluted form, it’s an excellent solvent and can be used to clean rusted armour.” He leaned away to look her in the eye. “Felandaris seems to be an unsightly plant. But I know what it really is. No matter how I might prick myself on its thorns, I know it is far more than thorns and twisting stems. And taking the time to learn its ways is not something I would ever regret.” 

Tamaris could feel her face crumpling. She hid her face in her hand, and Felassan pressed his lips to the crown of her head. 

“You were angry and irritable when we met,” he murmured.

“I know,” she cried. “I was horrible. That’s what–”

Felassan cut her off. “You were also sympathetic and incisive and smart. You were kind and selfless – an excellent listener. You are angry and irritable sometimes, but that’s not all that you are. Don’t insult me by thinking I am unable to see the properties of the plant behind the thorns.”

Tamaris sobbed and buried her face against his chest once more. But this time, she allowed herself to relax into his embrace. He kissed her hair and stroked her arm, and Tamaris hid her face in his shirt until the lump of distress in her chest finally felt like it had melted away.

She sniffed hard, and Felassan patted her knee. “As for wishing we could stay in bed for longer: I agree with you on that.”

She sniffed again. “You do?”

“Of course,” he said. “This is another thing I miss about the olden days. In ancient Elvhenan, it was common to spend months in bed with a lover.”

She scoffed, then offered him a tiny smile. “I saw a memory in the Vir Dirthara about that. Two spirits were having sex in the air for a really long time and someone told them to get a private chamber.”

Felassan laughed. “Ah yes. I was always rather envious of spirits for getting to frolick mid-air like that. It seemed like it would allow for a lot of interesting possibilities.”

Tamaris tilted her head, distracted now by her curiosity. “Have you ever had sex with a spirit?”

“Of course,” Felassan said. “What sort of foolish question is that?”

“It’s not my fault,” she said defensively. “Solas denied it.”

Felassan’s face lit with humour, and Tamaris hastily corrected herself. “Well, he sort of denied it. He refused to answer the question when Thom asked him.”

Felassan laughed again. “Well, I can answer that for you. Of course he had sex with spirits.”

She snorted. “I knew it.”

Felassan nodded. “Spirits make for multifaceted lovers. Particularly as there are many ways to… join with them, for lack of a better word. The way they touch is… well, it is often less about touch and more about feeling. A suggestion of sensation tinted by whatever virtue they embody. If you fostered a very intimate connection with a spirit, they might…” He paused, and a thoughtful frown creased his eyebrows. “In this time, you would call it possession. In my time, it was a consensual and normal sexual act between a corporeal person and a spirit.”

Tamaris looked at him with wide eyes. “Possession was a spirit’s way of having sex?”

“It was one way,” Felassan corrected. “And it could be glorious.” He smiled at her. “But that’s neither here nor there. _We’re_ here now, and I suspect your arm still has ants crawling under the skin.”

She grimaced. “That sounds disgusting.”

“I know,” he said drolly. “Would you like me to keep massaging it?”

She gazed at him seriously. “Honestly, I can do it myself. You don’t have to.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,” he said. “These days, I’m endeavouring to do exactly what I like and nothing more.”

She shot him a chiding smirk, then sighed and gave in. “Okay. That would be nice.” She gave him a sheepish look. “It feels better when you do it.”

“Then I’m particularly happy to help,” he said. He gently shifted her off of his lap and sat on her left side once more, and when he started firmly caressing her arm, she closed her eyes and sighed.

Eventually, one of his hands slid up to her shoulder and began kneading the junction of her shoulder and her neck, and she winced. “ _Ah_ ,” she groaned.

He softened his grip. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” she said. “But in a good way.”

He hummed in agreement. “I feel a good-sized knot here,” he said. His hand slid to her nape, and she sighed in relief when he gently squeezed the back of her neck. 

He tutted and shifted to a kneeling position. “Take your shirt off and lie down. You need a proper massage.” 

She shook her head vaguely. “You don’t have to–”

“Tamaris, lie down,” he said firmly. “I insist.” 

She grumbled as she pulled off her shirt. “Now who’s the bossy one?”

He smirked at her as she stretched out on her belly. “It makes for a refreshing change, doesn’t it?” he said. He placed the heels of his hands on the small of her back on either side of her spine, then slowly pressed his hands up her back, pushing carefully into her body to smooth out the tension along the length of her spine. 

She drew a deep breath, then released it in a languorous sigh as his lovely warm hands slid down her back and up once more. “Fuck,” she groaned, and she rested her cheek on her folded right arm. “That feels amazing.”

“I told you I would do this anytime you wanted,” he said. “I’m slightly offended you never asked.”

“I couldn’t!” she protested.

“Why not?” 

She rolled her eyes. “If I let you do a massage, I would have ended up asking you to fuck me.”

“And _that’s_ something that’s never happened before,” he drawled.

She tutted. “I mean before we started having sex. When I was still being stupid because of Solas. Stupider than now, I mean.”

“Nothing that Solas made you feel is stupid,” Felassan said seriously. “You should stop referring to yourself as such.”

She didn’t reply, feeling humbled by his sober tone. He had a point, after all; it was a bad habit to keep calling her own feelings stupid. But it was such a hard habit to break. 

She sighed again and closed her eyes. Felassan was humming softly to himself as he smoothed his hands over her back, using his knuckles to carefully knead out the knots and rubbing her shoulders and neck carefully with his elegant fingers, and it wasn’t long before Tamaris was floating in a lovely sleepy haze, brokered and fostered by his firm and careful hands. 

His palms moved slowly up the center of her back and slid smoothly over her shoulder blades. As his hands made their way down her back, the tips of his fingers brushed along the sides of her breasts.

A hint of excitement leapt in her belly, but his hands were moving along, sliding back down to her hips and the small of her back. 

_It was probably nothing,_ she thought, and she drew a slow relaxed breath. But when his hands moved down her back again, he grazed the sides of her breasts with his fingers once more.

She swallowed hard. Already her body was starting to jangle with a faint hum of lust, but Felassan had gone back to rubbing out the knots in her back.

She licked her lips, then exhaled slowly to calm herself. Felassan rubbed the heel of his palm in a slow circular motion over her left flank, then her right flank, then he smoothed his palms from the small of her back down to her hips. 

Then, slowly, the tips of his fingers began to slide around the sides of her hips and beneath her body to caress her hipbones. 

Her breath snagged in her throat. His fingertips were on her hipbones, and it was hardly a stretch to imagine them sliding deeper beneath her, sliding toward the apex of her thighs–

“Be still,” he murmured. “Relax.” He withdrew his hands and placed one hand in the center of her back, then skimmed the other hand up along her side, and Tamaris’s lips parted in anticipation. His fingers were tracing her ribs, moving closer to her breast… 

He caressed the underside of her breast and rolled his thumb gently over her nipple, and she gasped and shifted her hips. 

“Easy, _avise_ ,” Felassan said. “Don’t undo all my hard work by getting riled up, now.” 

His voice was soft but curled with laughter, and she burst out a breathless little laugh. “You fucking tease,” she accused, then she gasped again; his thumb was tracing over her nipple in a slow perfect circle, and it felt so damned good. 

She sighed with pleasure and pressed her hips into the bed, and Felassan _tsk_ ed. “You need to relax,” he said. “Just relax for me like a good girl.”

 _Fucking smug brat,_ she thought in amusement. She opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly. “You’re starting this ‘good girl’ shit again?”

Felassan removed his hands from her body and raised his eyebrows. “Are you finished with this massage, then?” 

She tried to give him a dirty look, but it was hard to look forbidding when she was smiling like a horny idiot. “No,” she admitted. “I want you to keep going.” 

“Then lie still and quiet and let me work my non-magical magic,” he said. 

She sighed loudly, then rested her cheek on her arm again, and Felassan ran his fingers through her hair. “Good girl,” he murmured.

His voice was so fucking smooth and smug, and she drank in his words with a combination of exasperation and lust. “There’s no such thing as straightforward fuck with you, is there?” she asked.

His hand went still on her back. “Does that mean you don’t want a massage after all?”

“No,” she blurted. “I mean, yes, I — I want one.”

“You’re going to be still and quiet, then?”

She _tsk_ ed, but with no real irritation. He always knew exactly how to tease her to get her to comply. “Yes, Felassan,” she drawled. “I’ll be still and quiet like a fucking good girl.”

He laughed — gods, that smug and lilting sound, and the way it pulsed straight to the vee of her thighs… “Excellent,” he said. He splayed his hands on the small of her back once more. 

Tamaris held her breath; his palms were sliding lower now, down over the curves of her bottom. When he gently squeezed the curves of her ass, she gasped and involuntarily flexed her hips. 

He hooked one finger into the waistband of her leggings and tugged. “I’m going to take these off so I can massage your legs.”

“My legs, huh?” she taunted breathlessly. “Not my butt?”

His hands left her body, and she arched her spine with a whine. “Felassan, come on…”

He said nothing and did nothing, and Tamaris finally opened her eyes to glare at him. He was watching her with an expectant look on his face. 

She sighed irritably and forced herself to lie still. “There,” she said snarkily. “Are you happy now?”

He raised his eyebrows, and she pressed her lips together to force back any further pleas or taunts. A few long, tense seconds later, he smiled very faintly. “Good girl,” he said.

His voice was a low and carnal-sounding purr, and it sent a shiver of heat down her spine. But instead of reacting, Tamaris closed her eyes. 

Felassan chuckled. “Ah, a _very_ good girl. Lift your hips so I can take off your leggings.”

She lifted her hips slightly. Then his fingers were curving into the waistband of her leggings and her smallclothes and pulling them down. 

She arched her spine and parted her legs slightly, ostensibly to help him get her clothing off, but also in the vindictive hope of making him lose a little of his composure. She could already feel the heated moisture collecting between her legs, and when he exhaled sharply, she couldn’t help but smile. 

He chuckled softly. “Minx,” he accused.

 _No I’m not. I’m a good girl,_ she thought cheekily. But she didn’t dare say that, or he’d take his hands off of her naked body. And Creators, the way his hands were moving over her body… 

They were gliding up over the backs of her legs, his thumbs tracing the inner margins of her thighs, and Tamaris bit her lip hard to stop herself from parting her legs to welcome his touch. He palmed the curves of her butt, squeezing gently and smoothing his palms over her skin in a gentle caress, and she exhaled slowly in bliss as Felassan stroked her. His hands cradled her hips before sliding up along her waist, and when he cupped her breasts and lightly thumbed her nipples, she inhaled sharply through her nose to resist the urge to moan. 

He chuckled again, and the smug and heated sound _almost_ made her arch her spine. “You’re being very good,” he murmured. “Staying quiet and still like this so I can focus.” He drew his fingers firmly down the center of her back, then rested one hand on the back of her thigh. 

Then he slipped his fingers through the slickness at the very inner edge of her thighs. 

By pure instinct, she jerked her hips. Felassan’s hands disappeared once more, and Tamaris gasped and arched her spine. “Fuck,” she whined.

He tutted. “Tamaris, Tamaris. I can’t massage you properly when you’re moving so much.” 

She whimpered once more, then tried to force herself to relax on the bed, but it was so fucking _difficult_. The more she tried to lie still, the more aroused and desperate she seemed to get, and by the time she was lying flat on her belly again in some semblance of calm, her heart was pulsing so firmly in her throat and between her legs that she could hardly focus on anything else. 

She gripped the sheets in her right hand and rested her temple on her forearm. Then Felassan spoke again. “Are you calm now?” 

She nodded silently.

“Are you ready to be touched again?”

She nodded again.

“Good girl,” Felassan crooned. Then he stroked her slick sex with the tips of his fingers. 

Her fist clenched in the sheets, and she bit her lips hard. His touch was gentle, so infinitely light and gentle that it made her want to scream or threaten him or beg, but she didn’t dare; she couldn’t make a sound and she couldn’t move. All she could do was lie on her belly and suffer the pounding pulse of need that his teasing fingers were coaxing to life between her legs. 

His other hand curved over the back of her thigh and gently pulled her legs apart, and her blood pulsed with anticipation. When Felassan rolled the pad of his finger over her clit, her mouth dropped open with the instinctive desire to moan. 

But she didn’t make a sound. While Felassan gently petted her swollen clit, she could feel her face twisting with pleasure and her fingers tensing so firmly in the sheets that they hurt, but she forced herself not to move or make a sound. 

When the building buzz of pleasure between her legs started to become unbearable, Felassan spoke again. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I think the tension is all rubbed out of your back now. Roll over so I can work on your front.”

Her belly leapt with anticipation. “My front?” she said stupidly. 

“Yes, your front,” he said in amusement. “Roll over, _avise_. And remember, you have to stay very still.”

She smirked and shook her head. _Fucking menace,_ she thought, but she rolled onto her back all the same. She tucked her right arm beneath her head and looked at him, and a fresh bolt of desire rippled through her body.

The curl of his lips was casual and sly, but the rest of his body gave him away. His violet eyes were glowing as they moved greedily over her body, and his cock was a visible ridge pushing at the fabric of his breeches. He might be acting as though he was cool and composed, but he was obviously just as riled up as she.

His eyes slowly moved up to her face, and his smirk widened slightly. “You look very tense,” he said. “I wonder if there’s something I can do about that.” 

She smiled — he was being so cheeky that she couldn’t help it — but she didn’t speak or move.

Felassan chuckled, then curved his hands over her hips and began slowly sliding his hands up over her torso. His palms glided up over her ribs, then slid smoothly over her breasts, and she stared ardently at his beautiful face as he caressed her. He looked content and focused and wicked all at once, his lambent eyes following the path of his hands as they cradled her breasts, and when one of his hands slid higher still to curl around her throat, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes in bliss. 

Felassan stroked her jawline with one thumb and her hardened little nipple with the other, and Tamaris forced herself not to arch into his touch the way she desperately wanted to. He caressed her breast firmly, molding his palm over the swell of her flesh before sweeping his thumb over the peak, and she chewed her lip and used every ounce of her self-control not to move despite the pounding eagerness between her legs. 

He released her throat and slid his hand down her sternum, and his other hand followed as well, gliding smoothly over the bowl of her belly down toward her pelvis. When the heel of his hand slid lower still to cup her sex, she twitched.

His hands stopped. “Was that a movement, Tamaris?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head very slightly. To her enormous relief, he resumed the movement of his hands. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Stay _very_ still, now.” One of his hands began gliding back up her body toward her breast, but the other one drifted lower between her legs. 

With two fingers, he stroked her slick and swollen folds, and Tamaris clenched her teeth to stop herself from crying out. He was caressing her slippery folds with a slow firm rhythm while his other hand smoothed up toward her breast, and she waited tensely for his fingers to glide over her nipple — closer, closer now, over tender curve beneath her breast, _oh please_ he was almost there—

His hand slid back down her body instead of stroking her nipple. Meanwhile, one finger of his other hand dipped _very_ slightly into her entrance, and Tamaris couldn’t help herself. Frustrated and desperate, she twisted her hips and mewled. “Felassan…”

He sighed and lifted his hands. “Tamaris, I need you to relax for me.”

“I can’t,” she begged. 

“You have to,” he insisted. “You have to stay very still and quiet while I massage you, or I won’t be able to fuck you after.” 

She gasped and lifted her hips again at his sweet blunt words, and her desperation only surged higher as he continued to talk. “You do want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want me to fuck you?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, and Felassan went on. “Then you’re going to lie still and quiet for me?”

She nodded furiously and forced herself to settle. When Felassan spoke again, his voice was like cream. “Good girl,” he purred, and he slid one finger inside of her. 

Her jaw dropped open on a silent cry of pleasure, and she dug her nails into the back of her own neck. Felassan curled his finger inside of her and smoothed his hand up toward her breast without touching her nipple, and Tamaris lay still on the bed, her entire body jumping with tension at the strain of not moving in time with his torturous teasing hands. 

He chuckled, and the sound alone almost broke her. “I’m impressed,” he said casually. “Look at you lying so still while I feel your heat from the inside. You must really be hoping for me to fill you up.” He curled his finger slowly and lightly pinched her nipple, and Tamaris clenched her teeth and dug her nails hard into the back of her scalp, unable to release her cries of pleasure without risking the abandonment of his hands. 

He petted her nipple, then smoothed his palm down over her belly once more. “Since you’ve been so good, I’ll make an exception for you. When I slide my tongue between your legs, I’ll let you make a sound.” 

She nodded furiously — whether at the promise of his tongue or the allowance that she could release some of the rapture building in her chest, she couldn’t quite decide — but it seemed to be good enough for Felassan: a heartbeat later, she felt the distinct divine heat and pressure of his mouth between her legs. 

He stroked her slowly and sweetly with his tongue. She moaned loudly and lifted her hips toward him, and his hands and mouth left her.

Tamaris cried out in frustration. “Felassan, _please!_ ”

His hand gently encircled her throat, and she gasped convulsively with excitement. He stroked her neck, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with that feral little growl that she loved. “I said you could make a sound, Tamaris. I didn’t say you could move.” 

“Okay,” she blurted. “Okay, I won’t move.”

“You’ll stay still for me?” he said. “Even when I make you come on my tongue, you’ll stay nice and still?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake!” she cried. “I’ll stay still, just touch me!”

He huffed in amusement and brushed his thumb over her lips. “You and your fiery tongue. I hope I won’t regret letting you speak.” He pushed her legs apart, then lowered his mouth between her legs and treated her to a hot opened-mouthed kiss. 

She moaned and clenched her nails into her scalp once more, but she forced herself to stay perfectly still as he laved her slick folds with long sweeping strokes of his tongue. The tip of his tongue swept up along the length of her cleft to swirl delicately around her clit, and through the delirious rising of her pleasure, she realized he was caressing her pussy with the same thorough attention he’d given to the rest of her body: licking her firmly as though to feel every delicate fold of her flesh, treating the tiny nub of her clit with special attention in order to lessen her tension… no, that was wrong. He was heightening her tension, making the pressure and pleasure build and rise between her legs with every delicate swirl of his tongue. She was desperately grateful he’d allowed her to make a sound, because her breaths were coming in short sharp gasps as the pleasure pulsed higher, and she didn’t think she’d be able to take this peak in silence…

He lifted his mouth. “Come for me, Tamaris,” he said coaxingly. “Come for me like a good girl.” 

She gasped — _fuck_ , his gorgeous teasing words — then Felassan lapped delicately at her clit, and she came apart with a helpless cry.

He made a satisfied little growling noise and continued kissing and caressing her with his mouth, and Tamaris lay beneath him mewling helplessly as the pleasure crashed through her body in dizzying waves that reached all the way through the stump of her arm and down to her toes. 

He lapped slowly at her pussy to bring her down from her peak, then dropped a tiny kiss between her legs before lifting his face to smile at her. “I knew you liked it.”

“Which part?” she panted. 

“Being called a good girl,” he said complacently. 

She burst out laughing. “You are such an ass,” she scolded. “A smug, cocky, teasing ass.”

He laughed as well. “I wouldn’t tease if you didn’t like it. But I’ll compromise and let you decide what happens next.” 

“Sit back, then,” she said. She pushed herself upright. “I want to ride you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I know I’m from Elvhenan, but I’m not a halla.”

She grinned and shuffled toward him on her knees. “Shut up and take off your clothes,” she said.

He smiled cheekily, then slid off of the bed and quickly shucked his clothes, and Tamaris watched eagerly as his temptingly hard cock sprang free from his breeches. He crawled back onto the bed to join her, and Tamaris immediately settled herself on his lap. 

She gripped his shoulder for support and slid her slick cleft along the length of his cock, and Felassan exhaled a gorgeous groan. “ _Mm._ I think you might just be ready for me.”

She let out a throaty little laugh as she rocked against him. “I might be. Just barely.” She rested the stump of her arm on his other shoulder and reached down to adjust him, then positioned herself right over the head of his cock, perfectly poised and ready to take him deep.

He gripped her hip and pulled, but Tamaris refused to budge. Instead, she dipped her head toward his ear and traced her tongue along the point of his ear. 

He gasped and jerked his hips. He tilted his head to the side in a silent plea, and Tamaris pulled gently at his earlobe with her lips, then kissed the angle of his jaw and his neck before running the tip of her tongue gently along the tendon in his neck. 

He sighed and smoothed his hand up along her back. “ _Veraisa_ ,” he breathed. 

“It’s only fair,” she retorted. She lapped at his neck again, then left a tiny kiss and a tiny little bite just below his ear.

His fingers clenched on her back. She continued to lick and nip his neck, and it wasn’t long before he was rocking his hips up and trying to pull her down onto his cock. 

But Tamaris didn’t move. She stayed poised over his lap with the tip of his cock dipping ever-so-slightly into her entrance, and she ignored the lifting of his hips and the teasing pressure of his cock as she trailed her mouth from his ear down to the base of his neck.

“Tamaris,” he begged, and he tried to thrust toward her. “You’re killing me.”

 _I know,_ she thought. She knew exactly how much he liked being teased in this way — and this, of course, was the point. More than anything, more than his cock filling her up or his mouth between her legs or anything else, Tamaris wanted to make Felassan feel as good as she felt right now. He was a generous and intuitive lover, giving her exactly what she wanted even if she hadn’t realized she wanted it, and what she wanted right now was to make him feel even a fraction as satisfied as she was.

He moaned and dug his fingers into her hip, and the desperate sound of his desire made all of her inner muscles clench. But she kept herself poised as she began suckling at his neck more firmly than before. 

He drew a shaky breath and moaned again. “Tamaris, please…” 

Without warning, she took him all the way down to the hilt. 

He jerked and cried out, and Tamaris gasped with bliss. That first stroke, the first ecstatic moment when their bodies came together and he filled her up completely just like he always promised he would: it always felt perfect, so well-fitting and so fucking _good_ , and for a few seconds, she just rested on his lap with their bodies flush together and savoured the needy sound of his breath. 

His hand slid from her hip to her buttock. “Come, _avise_ ,” he panted. “Ride me like you threatened to do.”

She nodded and rolled her hips toward him. “Do you want me fast or slow?” she breathed. 

“Slow,” he said immediately. “Slowly so I can feel you, _ah_ …” He moaned again and gripped her ass. “ _Venirast’edhas._ ” 

She smiled. Even with her poor grasp of Elvhen, she knew what he’d said this time. 

She lifted her hips and lowered herself slowly onto his cock, then brushed her lips over his ear. “I think your cock is perfect, too,” she murmured. 

He burst out a little groan-laugh. “Oh good. We’re well-matched, then.” He lifted his hips toward her, and when she nibbled his earlobe gently, he moaned again. 

“Tell me before you come,” she whispered. 

“As though you won’t know,” he gasped. 

She smiled against his ear. “Tell me anyway.” 

He nodded and curled his hips toward her, and Tamaris watched and listened to him carefully, grinding and rolling her hips to take him deep and savouring the sounds of his pleasure as much as she savoured the completion of his cock deep inside of her body. 

He gasped more sharply than before. A few moments later, he squeezed her buttock. “I’m going to come,” he blurted. “Tamaris, I—” 

She suddenly lifted herself off of his cock entirely. His eyes flew open on a gasp, and he burst out a slightly hysterical-sounding little laugh. “Oh no. You’re not doing this to me,” he moaned. 

She laughed as well and stroked his neck. “Don’t complain. You like it.”

He grinned at her and released a long and shaky exhale, and Tamaris admired the brilliant glow of his violet eyes before taking his lips in a kiss. He thrust his tongue hungrily into her mouth, and Tamaris happily accepted the aggressive heat of his kiss until he drew away. 

He exhaled once more. “All right. Ride me again. I’m ready.”

She positioned herself, then kissed his cheekbone before lowering her lips to his ear. “Good boy,” she whispered. 

He burst out a laugh, then cried out as Tamaris came down hard onto his cock. She gripped his shoulder and rode him slightly faster than before, breathing hard herself as the sweet friction of his cock drove deep inside of her. When his hips began jerking more erratically and his face twisted with his impending peak, she lifted her hips and abandoned his cock yet again. 

This time, the sound that burst from his lips was a divine mixture of a sob and a laugh and a frustrated groan. “ _Ar dina’re rosa’sa’din inor ma,_ ” he moaned. 

She smoothed a bead of sweat away from his forehead. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me come,” he said. 

She huffed in amusement. “You and your fucking deals.” 

“Please,” he begged, and he stroked her back. “Please, _avise_ , have mercy.” 

She dipped her head to the side and licked his neck, and he groaned and restlessly twisted his hips. “I asked for mercy, not more torture,” he complained.

She hummed happily against his neck. “I haven’t decided if I’m feeling merciful yet,” she teased. “You’ll just have to see.” She adjusted herself on his lap and came down on his cock once more. 

Felassan’s feral cry lit a thrill beneath her skin, and she fucked him harder and faster than before. He pulled her into a kiss and dug his nails into her back and gasped into her mouth, and this time when he whimpered and tensed and fisted his hand in her hair, Tamaris finally allowed him to come. 

He jolted and let out a guttural groan of climax, and as Tamaris studied the rapture in his beautiful face, she wished she could bottle the glorious sound of his pleasure and hoard it away to listen to whenever she wanted.

Felassan shuddered and dropped his sweat-laced forehead against her chest, and she stroked his hair and neck until his body stilled. A few peaceful moments later, he lifted his head and gave her a tired smile. “‘I would die to come inside of you’. That’s what I said before.”

She laughed. “You’re so fucking dramatic.” 

“It was worth it,” he said, and he playfully patted her butt. “Now come. Unmount me.”

She smirked and slid off of his lap. A minute later, they were stretched out facing each other on the bed with their legs twined in an affectionate tangle of limbs. 

She smiled goofily at him. He returned her smile, but when he spoke, his words weren’t what she expected. 

“The Inquisition is over, you know,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “I know. I’m the one who ended it.” She ruefully quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry for spoiling _This Shit Is Weird._ ”

He smiled faintly, but his eyes remained serious. “What I mean is that the wolf hunt is not the Inquisition. You’re not in charge of this.”

She sobered at the seriousness of his tone. “I know that.”

“Do you?” he said.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You talk about the wolf hunt as though you’re being asked to lead it,” he said. “But neither Varric nor Dorian asked you to resume that role. Cassandra never mentioned it either, from what I recall.”

“I know,” she said, a bit tensely.

Felassan pressed on as though she hadn’t spoken. “It is not your sole responsibility to decide how to stop Fen’Harel’s plans. You’re not the one making the decisions.”

“I know, okay? I know that,” she said irritably. “But you’re the one who said I’m the most dangerous person against Solas. If that’s the case, then I have no choice but to do whatever’s the most useful.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You, the woman who told _me_ that I’m more than a weapon or a tool?”

“But that’s different…” She trailed off mid-protest; Felassan was giving her a reproving look.

“Your history makes you a particular danger to Fen’Harel,” Felassan said. “But that doesn’t mean you should be in charge of the efforts against him. Being the one with the biggest weapon doesn't mean you alone should decide how that weapon is used.”

She gazed pensively at him for a moment. In truth, he wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t secretly thought to herself many times before. “Who do _you_ think should decide, then?” she finally said. “Varric has been doing a good job.” Then she _tsk_ ed. “Ah, but he’s the Viscount here, and that’s a job and a half already…”

“Why should one person be in charge?” Felassan said.

She raised her eyebrows. She was genuinely surprised to hear him say this. “You think the responsibility should be shared?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said.

She stared at him in genuine bemusement, and the corners of his lips curled in a small smile. “Have I stunned you speechless?” he said.

“No,” she said blankly. “I just… Solas said the opposite. He said power shouldn’t be shared because individuals can give it up, but groups can’t.”

Felassan’s smile faded somewhat, and he sighed. “His perspective is… understandable, but inflexible. Alternate approaches might better serve the wolf hunt.” Then he shrugged. “But it’s not up to me to say. Or up to you, which should be a comfort. It should be freeing, really.” He tapped her bare hip. “You’re just one cog in the machine now, as the dwarves would say.”

She frowned. “But we still have to play a role.”

“Oh, we will,” he said. 

She stared at him, thrown off by how casual he sounded. “I mean it. We have to do something major to help. Especially since we’ve just been sitting here for a month.”

“We will, _avise_ ,” he assured her. “Don’t worry your pretty head.”

She chewed her lip as she mulled over her final worry – one she hadn’t yet expressed to Felassan. “What if wolf hunt business means we have to be separated?” she asked.

He let out a tiny laugh. “We won’t be separated.”

He sounded completely certain, which only made her all the more nonplussed. “But… but if you’re going to stay here for a while to translate Varric’s texts, and I might be needed elsewhere to–”

He interrupted her. “If you’re going somewhere, I shall be going too.”

Her heart flipped. “But what if it’s dangerous? Your magic is getting better, but it’s still not what it was before. Not yet, at least.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you want me to travel with you or not?”

 _Of course I do,_ she thought. “Yes, b-but that’s not the point–”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled. When the time comes for you to leave this house, I will be leaving with you.”

Her heart burst into a gallop at this. He sounded so certain. How was he so certain? He was really that certain that he wanted to stay with her? “It’s not that simple,” she protested. “What if it’s better for us to do something apart?”

“In what possible situation is it better for us to be apart?” he said in amusement.

“I… I don’t know,” she said blankly. “If we need two bodies in two different places at once to, I don’t know, follow leads or something…” She trailed off and shot him an annoyed look; he was smiling at her like one might smile at a particularly charming but foolish child.

She scowled. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

He reached out and ran his hand affectionately over her hair. “I have lived for thousands of years,” he said. “I’ve been largely alone for the last twenty-five of them, and it hasn’t been particularly fun. I am not alone now, and I am having a very good time being not-alone with you. So no: nobody will be telling me to do anything that does not involve being with you. I’ll travel with you as I please, and if there is some ultimate goal that needs to be met by one of us, we will get there together eventually.” He stroked her hair again. “They can wait for us.”

She gazed at him with a fluttering heart, torn between exasperation and adoration and gratitude. “You’re such an arrogant immortal.”

He pressed his hand to his chest in a mocking gesture of hurt. “You wound me, _avise_.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “There might not be time for them to just wait for us. We short-lived shems don’t have the luxury of thousands of years anymore, you know.”

“All the more reason for us to savour the time we have by spending it together,” he said.

Her heart squeezed again. She shuffled closer to him and stroked his chest. “So you’re just going to do exactly what you want without giving a fuck what other people say?”

“Is that not what you’ve been encouraging me to do all this time?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Shit. You’re right. I have been saying that.” She blurted a little laugh. “You’re right.”

He sighed contentedly and ran his palm in a soothing caress over her hip. “It’s always gratifying to have one’s correctness acknowledged.”

She smiled at him wordlessly. She knew he was expecting a snappy retort, but she was feeling far too content to think of something clever to say. 

Felassan wanted to stay with her. Even when they joined the wolf hunt in earnest, even if she turned into a cranky no-nonsense prickly-like-felandaris bitch, he said he still wanted her. 

And against all odds, Tamaris believed him.

He raised an eyebrow. “What, no clever comeback for me? That’s disappointing.”

 _I love you,_ she thought. She tweaked his ear. “No comeback today,” she said softly. Then she smiled. “You fucked the words out of me.”

He laughed: that beautiful rolling laugh that Tamaris would _never_ get sick of hearing. He rolled her onto her back and cradled her face in his hands. “You are a minx,” he scolded. “A terrible, loveable minx.”

Her heart leapt at his words. But his lips were brushing over hers and coaxing them apart, and then his tongue was delicately stroking her own, and in a matter of seconds, Tamaris lost interest in any further words. 

She curled her arm around his neck and kissed him back. He slid his fingers into her hair and settled himself cozily between her legs, and for the rest of that lazy and languorous night, Felassan and Tamaris didn’t bother with any further words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases, compiled mostly from FenxShiral with a couple morphemes invented by me:
> 
> \- _Ar dina’re rosa’sa’din inor ma:_ I would die to come inside of you.  
> \- _Naslahna’miol dur seithe:_ : ants under the skin. Elvhen phrase for ‘pins and needles’.  
> \- _Veraisa_ : vixen or temptress. 
> 
> FYI: I don’t have any more chapters hoarded away, so I’ll just be posting them as I write them now. Sorry for the delays and the inconsistent schedule! Next week: BIG LORE™. If I manage to get my shit together. 😂


	23. Braids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week: NO smut! [sob] It will return eventually, though. I'm dipping my toe into lore now, but also some friendship fluff...? IDK. I hope you like it.
> 
> Featuring drop-dead gorgeous Felassan and Tamaris art this week by [@elbenherzart,](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) whom I am constantly in utter awe of. xoxo
> 
> Note: Tamaris's hair is black in my mind, but WHEN IS BLACK HAIR REALLY BLACK?? ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE ASIAN?? IF IT'S DARK BROWN IN THE SUN, IS IT STILL BLACK?? 😂 I'm half-Chinese and I only just realized last week that my fiancé thought my hair was black for, like, a long time, when it's actually brown. I'm still cackling. 😂

The next day, after their usual morning routine of breakfast and sparring, Felassan decided to finish reading _This Shit Is Weird_. He settled on one of the plush sofas in the study while Tamaris stripped the wallpaper from the study walls, and he made his usual cheeky comments on the book as he read, which kept her entertained for a time.

It wasn’t long before he really sank into the book, however, and Tamaris understood why: he was reading the section about the Temple of Mythal, which was followed shortly after by the tale about going into the deep roads and discovering the existence of Titans — the two parts of the book that Felassan had been anticipating the most.

By the time Tamaris’s stomach was clamouring for lunch, Felassan was still reading in a very intense silence. She padded over to him and tapped his shoulder. “I’ll make some sandwiches,” she said quietly. “Is grilled cheese and ham all right?”

He looked up at her with a smile and took her hand. “Kiss me first. To help me concentrate.”

Her belly did a little leap of pleasure. She gave him a chiding smile. “I thought kissing you helped you with your magic, not your concentration.”

“It helps me with a great number of things,” he replied. 

She _tsk_ ed, then bent over to kiss him. He slid his hand into her hair and gently nipped her lower lip, and when he finally released her, her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird.

He smiled and stroked her jaw with his thumb, then lowered his hand. “Try putting some mustard in the sandwiches,” he said. “Mustard and apricot jam. Just a small amount of both.”

“You’ll take your sandwich how I make it and you’ll be happy,” she scolded.

Felassan’s easy laughter followed her out of the study, and she couldn’t help but grin in response as she made her way to the kitchen.

When she returned to the study twenty minutes later, Felassan was sitting cross-legged on the sofa and reading with a stunned look on his face. Tamaris set the tray on the sofa and sat on the floor. “Which part are you reading?” she said quietly. 

He looked up at her. “You were _inside_ of a Titan? Actually inside of it?”

“Yes,” she said. “It was…” She shook her head at the memory. “It was fucking vast. Cavernous, literally. If not for the heart, we wouldn't have known it was a living—”

Felassan interrupted her. “The heart was intact, then?”

He looked very serious, and Tamaris eyed him cautiously. “As far as I could tell. Valta didn’t seem to see anything wrong with it, and she was connected or tapped into the Titan, or whatever it was that happened to her...” She trailed off as Felassan’s eyebrows rose.

“Valta tapped into the Titan?” he said quietly. 

Tamaris frowned. “Yes. Have you not finished reading that part yet?”

“Not quite.”

She waved at the book. “Go on then, finish reading it!”

“I will, once I’ve eaten,” he said. He put the book aside and picked up a sandwich.

Tamaris watched guiltily as he took a bite of his food. “Felassan, it’s okay,” she said. “You can read while you eat. I promise I don’t mind.”

“ _I_ mind,” he said. “I would prefer to talk to you while I eat.”

His expression was warm and open, and it lifted an answering warmth in her chest. “All right,” she said, and she picked up her sandwich.

Felassan took another bite and hummed approvingly. “You put in the mustard and jam.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to argue with the thousands-of-years-old chef.”

He chuckled. “It’s nice to know you respect my age, if nothing else.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully and took another bite, and Felassan swallowed before speaking again. “I see that Fen’Harel is notably absent during this adventure. He decided not to come?”

“Oh.” Tamaris pulled a little face. “Um, no. I… told him not to come.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged awkwardly. “He broke up with me when we were on our way to the Storm Coast to deal with the deep roads collapse. So I told him to go back to Skyhold.” A sudden flash of a memory crossed her mind: the way Solas’s expression had melted from tender to tragic, right before he told her he had distracted her from her duty and that it would never happen again. 

_Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you dare fucking look at me like you ever loved me._ Her own furious words rang in her ears, and for a split second, she felt like a stone had dropped onto her diaphragm.

“ _Ir abelas,_ ” Felassan said quietly.

She blinked and looked up at Felassan — beloved Felassan, with his clear purple eyes full of tenderness and truth. 

She took a deep breath. “Don’t apologize,” she said softly. She took another bite of sandwich and shrugged. “Honestly, it was for the best.”

“How so?” he said.

“If he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth after a year, he was never going to trust me,” she said. “I couldn't see that at the time, but it’s obvious now. We would never have worked out with that many secrets between us.” 

Felassan didn’t reply right away. After a few seconds of silence, Tamaris looked up to find him watching her with a little smile. 

Her heart leapt at the obvious fondness in his face. She bashfully tucked her hair behind her ear. “What?” she said. 

His smile widened slightly. Then he tilted his head. “If it is any comfort to you, you are not the only one he didn’t trust.”

Tamaris nodded. Felassan had mentioned before how strict and withdrawn Solas had become around the time that he began developing the magic to make the Veil. “What happened exactly to make him so suspicious?” she asked. “I saw some of the memories in the Vir Dirthara slandering him, but… was it really just that? The propaganda against him?”

Felassan’s expression started to sober. “I suspect I’ll be telling you and Varric in detail tonight. Which reminds me: we should invite him over, if you wish for him to know about the Titans.”

“I’ll send the raven after lunch,” she said.

Felassan nodded. “I’ll be sure to make something non-spicy for him.”

Tamaris mock-pouted. “What about me?”

Felassan’s smile chased away the melancholy in his face. “I’ll make you something spicy tomorrow.” He playfully tweaked her hair. “You are getting terribly pampered. How did you survive before you met me?”

“By eating a lot of shitty food, apparently,” she said dryly.

He laughed heartily. “This sandwich is far from shitty, _avise._ ” He inclined his head in that regal way he had. “Thank you for the lunch.”

She smirked at his manners and took another bite, and they spent the rest of their lunch break comparing ancient Elvhen and Dalish dishes and marvelling at the similarities and differences between their cuisines. When their lunch was finished, Felassan stretched out on the couch and went back to his reading, and Tamaris sent a raven to the Viscount’s Keep before starting to wash the residual glue from the now-stripped walls. 

Washing the walls was sweaty work, and she eventually stripped off her shirt and put her hair up into a messy bun to try and be a little more comfortable. Some time later, she glanced at Felassan to find him lounging lazily on the couch and watching her with a little smile on his face. 

She wiped some sweat from her forehead. “Paint a picture,” she said teasingly. “It’ll last longer.”

His smile widened. “Come over here.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you finished reading?”

He nodded. “Varric has no further reason to resent me,” he said. He patted the couch and gave her a winning smile. 

She padded over to the couch and sat beside his outstretched legs. “So? What did you think?”

“I think that Varric has spun a fine story here,” he said. “I hope to spin one for you tonight that is just as entertaining.”

“He wasn’t spinning a story,” she protested. “He was just… beefing up some parts and downplaying others.”

Felassan lifted one eyebrow, and Tamaris smiled sheepishly. “Okay, fine, he was spinning a story.”

He chuckled, and Tamaris poked his belly. “But _you’ve_ gotten to hear the real version.”

He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I do get to enjoy that rare boon, yes. Insofar as any version of a story can be real.”

She shot him an odd look, and he casually waved his hand. “Oh, I’m not questioning the veracity of your and Varric’s telling. Just commenting that there are versions of every truth.” 

She frowned. “Yes, but there are also objective facts. The facts of a story are just as important as the way they’re interpreted.”

He tilted his head. “Would you prefer for me to stick to the facts in my telling of ancient history, then?”

She hesitated. Her instinctive answer was to say that yes, she just wanted the facts. But she didn’t want Felassan to feel like she was just pumping him for information. Whatever he told them tonight was sure to put _that_ look on his face, that anachronistically world-weary look that made her heart ache, and it would be cruel for her to force him to turn that heartache into an objective report.

Besides, she had heard what ‘just the facts’ sounded like in Felassan’s voice: his telling of the time he’d spent as a Tranquil. She didn’t ever want to hear him sounding so flat and lifeless again. 

“No,” she finally said. “You should tell us however it makes sense to you. I just… I just want answers.” She sighed. “I’m not going to like them, but… I need to know.”

“I’ll do my best to make your answers as entertaining as possible, then,” he said softly. Then he lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “What is the objective truth, anyway? It is like the humans’ Maker: something that everyone insists is real, but the more you seek it, the more gaps and questions you’ll find instead.”

She snorted a little laugh. “Now you’re just trying to cheer me up by making fun of the Chantry.”

“Is it working?” he said. 

“I hate to admit it, but yes,” she said dryly.

“Good,” he said. “I haven’t lost my wily words, then.” He pushed himself upright on the couch, then leaned forward and playfully nibbled her neck.

She wrinkled her nose and waved him off. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Is that meant to deter me?” he said. He nipped the juncture of her shoulder and neck, then reached up and released her hair from its bun.

“Ugh, why?” she complained. She pulled her hair away from her neck. “You’re just going to make me sweatier.”

He playfully smacked her hand. “I’m going to braid it.”

“That’s so much work,” she protested.

“It will be worth it,” he said. “You have beautiful hair.” He shifted slightly so he was sitting on her left side, then gently combed his fingers through her hair: enough to smooth out any snags without breaking up her curls too much. 

She scoffed. “Are you jealous of my curls?”

“Very,” he said with a smile. He began carefully parting her hair to the left. 

She sighed and relaxed into his capable hands, but she couldn’t help one last playful dig. “If you leave my hair as a tangled mess, you’re going to be the one picking out the knots.” 

He _tsk_ ed, to her amusement. “Don’t insult me so. I know exactly what I’m doing.” He began twisting a braid into her hair on the exposed left side, keeping the braid tight to the scalp. “In ancient Arlathan, the braiding of hair was an art. Some people spent their days coming up with elaborate hairstyles with curls, plaits, ornaments and feathers, and even horns.”

Tamaris huffed. “Just goes to show how much time you ancients had on your hands.”

“Don’t be rude,” he said drolly. “We were not so different from this time, really. Think of the Orlesians and their masks. The Antivans and their clever tailoring. Extravagant beauty of some form is a mainstay of every culture. And as with every culture, such elaborate beauty was more than just an art. For my people, elaborate braids were a sign of status.” He smoothed his fingers over the braid he’d made, which now spanned just behind her ear. “The more ornate the style, the closer you were to the gods.”

“Of course,” she muttered. Then she shot him a curious look. “What did your hair look like in the past?”

“For a long time when I was young, I wore simple braids and styles, not unlike what I do now.” He shrugged. “Simplicity befitting of an Evanuris’s household staff, you know. Then, for a time, I had no hair.”

She blinked in surprise. “No hair? Like Solas?”

His answering smile was a little crooked. “Not quite. Fen’Harel shaved his head of his own free will. The Evanuris forced us — the slaves, that is — to shave our heads.”

Tamaris frowned. “Why?”

Felassan paused in his braiding and tilted his head. “Can you imagine what it would feel like to be forced to shave your head against your will?”

Her mind conjured an image of her lustrous black curls being shaved by force by a human, and her stomach lurched. She took a deep breath. “It would feel like being stripped in public,” she said quietly. “It would be… humiliating.”

Felassan nodded and continued braiding her hair. “The Evanuris said it was to help us stay clean and hygienic. But those of us who were freed knew the truth. It was a means to subjugate us. To make it easier for them to use and discard us, once they had shorn us of that which was seen as a sign of beauty and closeness to the gods that we all revered.”

His voice was hardening as he spoke. Tamaris turned her head slightly to look at him. “ _Ir abelas,_ ” she said softly.

He met her eye, and the anger in his face softened slightly. “ _Ma serannas,_ ” he said quietly. He smoothed his fingers over the braid he’d made along the left side of her head, then gently squeezed her shoulder. “Turn so your back is to me.”

She did as she was told. Once she was settled, Felassan lifted a small section of her loose hair and began making a small plait. “Once Fen’Harel freed us, we could grow our hair again and wear it however we wished,” he told her. “Some choose to keep their heads shaved as a reminder of what had been done to them, and a reminder of what they had overcome. Others wished to wear marvelous hairstyles like those of the Evanuris, because why shouldn’t they? But many of them did not know how to create such styles anymore. Those of us who remembered, like myself and Fen’Harel, helped them with this.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Fen’Ha— I mean, Solas helped people to braid their hair?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “He was highly skilled in the braiding of hair, in fact. Did he never offer to braid yours?”

She shook her head slightly. “I very rarely wear my hair in braids, though. I can’t be bothered.”

Felassan huffed in amusement. “I don’t blame you. I can rarely be bothered to do more than the simplest styles myself.” He continued plaiting small locks of her hair. “Regardless, Fen’Harel was very good at braiding hair. He had elaborate hair himself for a very long time, you know.”

Tamaris snorted. “You’re lying.”

“I would never lie about something so glorious,” Felassan said. “At one point, he had long beautiful braids reaching down to his waist, studded with beads and rings of gold.”

Tamaris turned around partway to give him an incredulous look. “Braids with beads and rings? You’re fucking kidding.”

He grinned. “I promise you, I’m not. I wish I had some of those beads and rings, in fact. They would look exquisite on you.” He eyed her hair wistfully, then shrugged and began making another small braid. “I shall ask Varric to find some for us.”

Tamaris scoffed at the frivolous request. Then she sobered. “But you said he chose to start shaving his head. Why…?” She trailed off with a frown and thought for a moment, then glanced at Felassan again. “He shaved his head out of solidarity?”

He gave her a small and slightly melancholy smile. “In support of those that he freed, yes. And in defiance of the elaborate styles of the Evanuris. He sought to divorce himself from the Evanuris — to show clearly that he was not of them. And many of the freed slaves felt more comfortable in his presence when they saw that the famed Fen’Harel looked like them, even if he had never been a slave himself.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. Then she shot Felassan a little frown. “Do you think it’s odd that Solas was the leader of the freed slaves, even though he wasn’t one of them?”

He smiled. “Do you think it odd that you were the leader of the Inquisition, even though you do not believe in Andraste?”

“Every single fucking day,” Tamaris said flatly.

Felassan laughed. “Fen’Harel did, as well. For that reason, he was always very insistent that each freed slave’s life was their own, and they owed him no fealty. I chose to become his spy, but others simply chose to live in peace in _Arla’fen_ , or to flee to the outer edges of the empire to start a new life outside of the Evanuris’s reach — or as far from their reach as possible, in any case.” He sighed. “I have long felt that this is part of what made him so lonely.”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris asked.

Felassan lowered his hands and looked her in the eye. “Imagine an elf who was once a spirit, standing as the favoured companion of one of the Evanuris, but not being one of them. An _elgar’venathe_ who spent much of his time freeing slaves in secret, but he was not one of them, either.”

She frowned slightly, but with a pang in her chest. Felassan smiled faintly, then stood up and sat on her right side. “The Dread Wolf trod carefully and skillfully in many worlds, but he did not truly belong to any of them,” he said. He lifted another lock of her hair and began forming another small plait.

Tamaris was quiet for a long moment as she remembered Solas’s solitude, and how he had always kept himself apart from the rest of the Inquisition… No, wait. That wasn’t true. There was one person he’d always seemed far more comfortable around — someone other than Tamaris herself.

 _Cole,_ she thought. Solas had always been particularly fond of Cole, and particularly loquacious with him. Then there was Solas’s spirit friend in the Exalted Plains — the only old friend Solas had ever spoken of. 

She glanced at Felassan. “I think he wished he was still a spirit.”

Felassan met her gaze. His expression was pensive and a little bit sad. “I have often thought the same thing.”

“Why did he become an elf, then?” she asked. “Or, um, take a… what did you call it? Take on a corporeal form?”

“Because Mythal asked him to,” Felassan said. 

Tamaris blinked in surprise. “Seriously?”

Felassan nodded, and Tamaris gazed at him with wide eyes. “Why?” she asked. 

He gave her another sad little smile. “I will tell you tonight when Varric comes.” He leaned back slightly and smoothed his hand over her hair. “In the meantime, you should find a mirror and look at my work. You are even more stunning than usual.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.” She stood up and made her way to the elaborately-framed mirror in the front foyer, and when she caught sight of her own hair, she stopped short in surprise. 

The left side was bound in a perfect tight braid that coursed along the side of her scalp and behind her ear, then flowed down over her shoulder. The rest of her hair lay in loose tousled curls as usual, but sections of it were caught up in tiny braids that looked like ornaments in and of themselves. 

She raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t used to seeing her hair in such a fancy style, and the contrast between the sleek left side and the wild right was… interesting. In a good way. 

In a really good way, actually. She glanced at Felassan, who had followed her into the foyer and was leaning casually against the wall with his arms folded. “I like it,” she said.

He smiled. “I’m glad I didn’t snarl your hair into a mess of tangles for no good reason, then.”

She winced. “All right, fine, what I said before was rude. I’m sorry. I really like how this looks, though.” She patted the sleek braid on the left, then frowned; there was nothing fastening the bottom of the braid, yet it wasn’t unravelling.

She looked up at Felassan again. “How is this staying in place?”

“Magic,” he said.

She gave him a chiding look, then paused; he was smiling still, but his expression wasn’t jocular. 

Her eyes widened. “Wait, are you being serious?”

He nodded, and her jaw dropped. “How…?”

He shrugged. “It just… came to me without thinking. An automatic pattern of the fingers and the mind, it seems.”

She gaped at him with growing wonder. “But that’s… that’s good, right?” She gestured at her hair. “This was exactly what you mean to do, right?”

“It was, yes,” he said.

Her belly leapt with excitement. “It came to you naturally like breathing,” she said. “You did exactly what you meant to without thinking about it! That’s how magic is supposed to feel to you, right?”

He chuckled. “Yes, Tamaris, it is.”

“But that’s — Felassan, that’s incredible!” she exclaimed. “That’s…” She gaped at him in awe, then suddenly flung her arms around him in a hug. “That’s incredible!”

He hugged her back, but his words were cautionary. “This was just a small feat, _avise_. Don’t get carried away.”

“I’m not getting carried away!” she protested. “This is incredible! And it doesn’t matter if it was just a small thing. It felt the way it was supposed to. That means everything you’ve been doing is working!” She leaned away and poked his chest. “You’re on your way to getting your magic back, see? I _knew_ you would!”

“Everything _we_ have been doing is working, you mean,” he said. “I would not have reached this point if not for you.”

“Well, neither would I,” she said. “I’d still be a bitter drunk mess if not for you. Fair’s fair.”

He gave her a chiding look. “You discredit yourself so quickly. You would have found your bearings in time.”

“So would you,” she retorted.

He gave her a slow and breathtaking smile. “We are a well-matched pair, then,” he said. “Two non-broken people who helped each other to become even less broken.”

She gazed at him, wordless with pride and adoration, and in the warmth of his smile and his brilliant violet eyes, she could see the reflection of the feeling that was making her heart pulse with happiness. She and Felassan were more than just two people who had helped each other. Through each other’s eyes, they’d rediscovered something in themselves that they’d each thought was lost, and over the course of that discovery, they’d twined their lives together in a way that Tamaris would never have thought possible with someone she’d known for so little time. 

She smiled helplessly at him, then pulled him close for a kiss. He immediately sank into her kiss, parting his lips under the coaxing pressure of her mouth and sliding his tongue sinuously along the length of her own. He gently nipped her lips with that exquisitely gentle care that told her how much he was savouring the taste of her mouth, and by the time he gently peeled his mouth away from hers, she was panting. 

He ran his thumb across her cheek. “We have a pocket of time now before Varric comes,” he murmured. “I wonder what we should we do with it?”

She smirked; she could tell exactly what he had in mind from the heated and mischievous look on his face. All the same, she playfully tilted her head. “What did you have in mind?”

He chuckled. The sound was more of a purr than a laugh, and it sent a lovely shiver down her spine. He leaned in and brushed his lips to hers, and his silky reply was a whisper of warmth over her lips. 

“I believe we should… go finish washing the walls in the study,” he murmured.

 _Cheeky ass,_ she thought happily. Then she hopped into his arms.

Felassan caught her with a laugh of surprise as she looped her legs around his waist. “Later,” she said huskily, and she kissed him once more. 

He kissed her back and carried her to the sofa in the study. And for a lovely, blissful time, they indulged themselves in a discovery of a more carnal kind.

***************************

Late that afternoon, Varric arrived with a box of fine Antivan chocolates and a wry smile. “Hey,” he said, and he handed the chocolates to Tamaris. “These arrived at my office this morning. They’re from Ruffles.” He took his usual seat at the dining table. “Thought we might need them if Jester’s going to be telling us some horror stories tonight.” He glanced at the kitchen, where Felassan was finishing up dinner. 

“Good thinking,” Tamaris said. She sat across from him and shot him an apologetic look. “Listen, I was being an ass last night. I shouldn’t have just stormed off like I did.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric said. “Honestly, Cuddles, I don’t blame you. It’s a tough time for everyone.”

“That’s kind of my point, though,” she said. “You’re so calm. How are you so calm through all of this? Aren’t you angry?”

Varric shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t see the point. This isn’t our first disaster, remember?”

“I know, but still.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “Tell me your dwarven secrets. How are you so fucking pleasant all the time?”

He huffed in amusement. “You don’t know that I’m pleasant all the time. Maybe I spend my evenings gnashing my teeth and wailing before I go to bed.”

Tamaris clicked her tongue. “Seriously. How are you coping with this so well?”

“Honestly?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’ve been writing something.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? What are you writing?”

He tugged an earring. “It’s… something really stupid.”

Felassan piped in. “It’s smut, isn’t it?” He slid a platter of fragrant salmon and rice onto the table, then headed back to the kitchen.

“Is that all you ever think about?” Tamaris called after him. 

“It is a solid third of everything I think about, yes,” he called back. 

Tamaris snorted in amusement and turned back to Varric. To her surprise, Varric was looking vaguely embarrassed. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. It’s a trashy romance thing.”

“But I thought you didn’t like writing those!” Tamaris said in surprise.

He shrugged again. “Eh, I’ve changed my mind. They’re not so bad. It’s less pressure too, since almost nobody reads my romance serials.”

“So why are you doing it, then?” she asked.

“Because it’s relaxing, Cuddles,” he said wryly. “You asked me how I relax, that’s how I relax.”

She peered carefully at him. “Are you saying you… you know? While writing them?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Varric rolled his eyes. “You’re just as bad as Jester. The two of you need to find a new hobby.”

“I take offense to that,” Felassan said as he re-entered the room with a platter of grilled vegetables. He gave Tamaris a chiding look. “I wouldn’t make such a crude suggestion to our esteemed writer. Varric is obviously writing another romance serial for Cassandra.”

Tamaris scoffed. “No he’s not.” She turned to Varric. “Are you?”

Varric grimaced slightly and tugged his earring again, and Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “You _are?_ ” 

“Of course he is,” Felassan said. He began serving everyone’s food. “He said _almost_ no one reads his serials, and we all know who his most avid fan is.”

“All right, fine, I am,” Varric grumbled. “But it’s just for fun. Honestly, I think the Seeker gets more out of it than I do.”

 _That makes it even sweeter,_ Tamaris thought, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by pointing this out. 

Felassan, as usual, had fewer qualms than she. “That’s very considerate of you,” he said. “Exceedingly considerate, in fact. I was just telling Tamaris the other day that we should invite Cassandra to visit sometime.”

Tamaris kicked him under the table, but he didn’t even bat an eye. Varric, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow. “Visit Kirkwall? Why?”

“Why not?” Felassan said. He waved his arm in a vague gesture. “We have this large empty house. She would be welcome to stay. Wouldn’t she, Tamaris?” He shot her a very innocent smile.

“Of course she would, Felassan,” Tamaris said through clenched teeth. “But she is pretty busy with, you know, rehabilitating Tranquils and the Seekers and all that.”

“Everyone needs a break sometimes,” Felassan said cheerfully. To Varric he said, “Do you think we should invite her to stay?”

“I mean, you could,” Varric said. “Cuddles is right, though; she might be too busy. Wouldn’t mind seeing her, though.” He popped some salmon in his mouth and eyed Tamaris thoughtfully. “Your hair is different. It looks dressed up.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Felassan said. 

Varric smirked at him. “Your handiwork, I’m guessing?”

“It certainly is,” he said with a smile. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ah, forgive me; I forgot the sauce for the salmon.” He rose from the table and leaned in to kiss Tamaris’s cheek, but as his lips brushed her cheekbone, he whispered to her. “Take note that he changed the subject.”

 _Smug fucking spy,_ she thought, but of course she couldn’t say a word. Felassan sauntered away to the kitchen, and Tamaris smiled tightly at Varric, whose eyebrows were quirked in a quizzical expression. 

“Um, yeah,” she said lamely. “I look fucking fancy now.” She speared some vegetables and salmon on her fork. “Be careful that he doesn’t offer to braid your chest hair. I don’t think he’s above it.”

“I heard that,” Felassan called from the kitchen. 

Tamaris smirked, and Varric chuckled. Felassan returned to the table, and they spent the rest of their meal chatting casually about local goings-on and a book that all three of them had read when it came out about ten years ago. 

When their meal was done and Tamaris had finished tidying the kitchen, they retired to the library with Varric’s chocolates and Tamaris’s sending crystal so Dorian could be included in the discussion. Varric sat in an armchair while Felassan plopped onto one of the plush couches and stretched out his legs, and Tamaris settled herself cross-legged on the floor by Felassan’s couch and swept her thumb over the sending crystal. 

A few moments later, Dorian’s voice floated through. “Tamaris! I was just thinking of you. I had hoped you were missing the mellifluous sound of my voice.” 

“I missed you desperately, Dorian,” she said dryly. “Felassan and Varric are here too.”

“A whole party of people who miss me dearly!” Dorian said brightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Varric replied. “It’s storytime with the ancient elf. We thought you’d want to join in.”

“Oh, is Felassan telling us tales of the past?” Dorian said. “How amusing.”

“Amusing is what I always strive for,” Felassan said. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Disturbing is what the result will likely be, unfortunately.”

“Even better,” Dorian said.

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “Really? You want to be disturbed?”

“I want to be accurately informed,” Dorian said. “What Abelas told us at the Well of Sorrows has never left my mind, you know. To know that my people were scavengers, not conquerors… it means something. We should never have striven for that reputation of the glorious conquerers in the first place, and to know that we never were is humbling, in a good way.”

Felassan’s smile was soft. “You are wise beyond your years and your race, my friend.”

“I do believe that was a compliment,” Dorian said. “If so, I will happily accept.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Do you two need some time alone to bond?”

Felassan playfully tugged her braid. “Don’t be jealous, _avise._ You know you are always my favourite person the room.”

Varric groaned, and Dorian _tsk_ ed. “If that’s what this call will be like, then give me a moment to find a bucket to vomit in.”

Tamaris smiled goofily and scratched the back of her neck, and Felassan chuckled. “Enough idle small talk, then. Don’t let me hold up this storytelling time.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do you wish to know first?”

There was a brief pause. Then Dorian, Tamaris, and Varric all spoke at once. 

“Why was Solas so angry about the archdemons being killed?” Tamaris asked. 

“How did red lyrium get the Blight in the first place?” Varric said.

“I’d like to know more about that orb that Solas had,” Dorian said.

A slow smile crept over Felassan’s face. Then he started to laugh. “So you wish to know everything, then. I suppose I ought to start from the very beginning. Of what I know, at least.” His expression grew serious. “Much of what I will tell you happened long before I was born. The knowledge I have isn’t as first-hand as the facts you would get from Fen’Harel himself, if he had ever been so inclined to share it with you.” He sighed. “I also have strong suspicions about things that… that Fen’Harel did not want his people to know.” He looked directly at Tamaris, and his gaze was soft and utterly serious. “Things he would not have wanted _you_ to know, for fear of corrupting the woman he loved with that which eventually poisoned our entire empire.”

Her pulse began to rise at this. “Just tell me what _you_ feel comfortable with,” she told him. 

He nodded. Then he smiled and laced his fingers casually behind his head. “All right. I should probably start by telling you what — or rather, who — the archdemons really were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felassan’s anecdote about the importance of hairstyles in ancient Arlathan, and the terrible meaning of slaves having their hair shaved, was heavily inspired by the IRL history of European slave traders shaving the heads of West African people when they took them as slaves. The sources I referred to for this are [here](https://blackthen.com/you-cant-take-our-crowns-the-impact-of-slavery-on-black-womens-hair/) and [here](https://www.kikacurls.com/blogs/kikas-blog/natural-hair-the-history-before-the-movement#:~:text=When%20the%20slave%20trade%20started,also%20deprived%20of%20their%20identity.) – two sources that corroborate each other, both of which I recommend. My fiancé beta’ed that section for me as well. If you recognized the inspiration for this anecdote, I hope it came across as it is intended: a respectful homage to black history in North America. 
> 
> Two more chapters this week, possibly. Or at least one. 
> 
> I am [still on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to chat, but replies might be slow! xo


	24. Ancient History - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LORE DUMP, PART 1. Featuring GORGEOUS gift art of the previous chapter by [Lethendralis on Tumblr](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/), whom I adore deeply. xo
> 
> A disclaimer before I start, which you can feel free to skip:  
> Different fic writers have different ways of putting together the lore that Bioware has given us. I do not consider myself to be particularly creative, and I don't feel that my "version" of events and my "answers" to the Big Questions™ are really creative so much as a methodical attempt to reconstruct of events based on the canon information we have, and the meta posts I've found to be the most convincing. To that end, I'll list the sources (both canon and not) in the endnotes for this chapter and the next, leaving out the codex entries that I consider to be pretty common knowledge. 
> 
> Also, since all of we writers are using the same canon information to build our theories, there will likely be overlap between my fic and other fics out there. I will say that I barely read anything, LOL, so any overlap that happens is accidental - with two special mention caveats:  
> \- I read [Looking Glass by Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867676/chapters/11157401) so long ago that some of the non-canon lore from this beautiful fic has probably embedded itself in my psyche as being canon, so there may be things from this fic that I don't even realize I'm using.  
> \- The description of the thriving Elvhen empire, and of Solas and Mythal's budding friendship in [Pressure Point by 17734](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372518), is so perfect that I can't help but pay homage to it. 
> 
> Otherwise, any similarities between fics are coincidental. As the brilliant Iarollane said, putting together the pieces of lore is like making a mosaic: everyone gets the same coloured bits, but they make unique art pieces with them.

“I understand that Solas spoke to you of a war,” Felassan said to Tamaris. “One where the Evanuris emerged as heroes and eventually came to be revered as gods?”

“He told me that much, yes,” she said.

He nodded. “What do the Dalish know of the Forgotten Ones?”

 _The Forgotten Ones?_ she thought. Was that the enemy that the Evanuris had fought in their big war? 

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a reason we call them the Forgotten Ones, you know.”

He smirked. “Indulge me, _avise._ ”

She sighed. “We thought they were the antithesis to the Creators. They were gods of pestilence and malice, and they resided in the Void.”

“Ah yes, the Void,” Felassan said cheerfully. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Honestly? I’ve no fucking clue,” she said bluntly. “A bad place, I guess, if the Forgotten Ones lived there.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot: our stories told that the Dread Wolf tricked the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris into getting locked in their respective realms so he could have the entire world to himself. That’s one of the stories that all the Dalish share. ” 

Felassan laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see his reaction when he heard that particular Dalish tale.” 

“Honestly, he didn’t bat an eye,” Tamaris said. “I think he’d probably heard it before he met me. He was pretty good at keeping his calm about those kinds of things, at least at first.”

Varric huffed at this. “Anyone else ever think about how much he must’ve been screaming on the inside during his time with the Inquisition?”

“Often,” Dorian said. “And I thought _I_ was repressed and stifled.”

Felassan smirked. “Well, from what _our_ histories tell, the war that brought the Evanuris their fame was against these so-called Forgotten Ones: a group of elves and spirits of which little was remembered, aside from the fact that they disagreed with the Evanuris and brought strife upon our people. This war had been raging for a thousand years before the Evanuris vanquished them. When the final eight rebels were rounded up, the Evanuris had to find some fitting punishment for these enemies who had plagued them for so long.” He lowered his arms and trailed his fingers lazily along the carpet. “After much deliberation – a few hundred years’ worth, give or take – the Evanuris finally decided on a punishment befitting the Forgotten Ones’ crimes: the rebels were forced into the shape of enormous dragons, all but one of them bound in submission to one of the Evanuris.”

“All but one?” Tamaris said curiously.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian cut in. “ _Eight_ rebels, you said?”

“That is what I said,” Felassan replied.

“But there are only — well, there _were_ only seven Old Gods before the Wardens started killing them,” Dorian protested.

“That is what your human histories say, yes,” Felassan said.

Tamaris could practically see Dorian’s frown through the crystal. Then Dorian sighed. “All right, build the suspense. I see how it is. He’s just as bad as you, Varric.”

“Thanks, I think,” Varric said dryly. 

Tamaris held up a hand. “But wait. You said one of the eight rebels wasn’t bound to an Evanuris. Who didn’t get a dragon?”

Felassan shook his head. “It’s not a matter of who didn’t get a dragon. It’s a matter of a dragon not having an Evanuris to bind to it just yet.”

Tamaris frowned in confusion, then realized what he meant. “Ghilan’nain wasn’t counted among the gods yet,” she said.

He nodded in satisfaction. “She hadn’t even been born yet. Truly, she was a child compared to the other Evanuris.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “Just makes her all the more frightening, doesn’t it?”

Varric grunted. “All right. So your Forgotten Ones are turned into dragons and forced into submission to the Elvhen… heroes, who aren’t gods yet. But there’s one spare dragon. What happened to that dragon?”

“You know, I can’t really say,” Felassan said. “Maybe it was paraded around like a symbol of the Evanuris’s power. Maybe Andruil just kept it as a pet; she was Mythal’s favoured protégée for a very long time.”

“Her protégée?” Tamaris said. “I thought Andruil was her daughter.”

Felassan tilted his head in an ambivalent gesture. “This is one of those cases where changes in the Elvhen language have caused confusion from my time to yours. I honestly can’t confirm whether Andruil was Mythal’s daughter; by the time I was born, the Evanuris all denied any direct blood relations to each other. But Mythal called Andruil ‘ _da’len_ ’.” He cocked his head at Tamaris. “Which means what in modern Dalish Elvhen?”

“It means ‘child’,” Tamaris replied. “But it implies a student sort of relationship with someone who is older and more knowledgeable.”

Felassan nodded. “This may be where the confusion arose. In my time, _da’len_ was also used to refer to someone younger, but it implied a strong kinship like adopted family — one that you would protect and treat as dearly as though they were family. If the Dalish construed the word to mean ‘child’, they could easily have thought this meant that Andruil was _Mythal’s_ child by blood.” He shrugged. “Maybe that was true. But by the time I was born, Andruil and Mythal were… not on the best of terms, shall we say. I certainly never heard Andruil refer to Mythal with any particular respect.”

Tamaris frowned thoughtfully at this, and Felassan raised his eyebrows at Tamaris and Varric. “Are we ready to move on to the next part of the tale?”

“Please do,” Dorian said.

“All right,” Felassan said. “Now, in the wake of the Evanuris’s victory, the Elvhen empire began to truly flourish. No longer were the Evanuris and their resources bound to the constant demands of war.” He waved one hand in an elegant gesture. “With infinite time at their disposal, they began creating beautiful works of art and architecture and magic. They explored our world in depth to determine its secrets so they could make even more fantastical creations. They wrote songs and created literature that would make you weep to hear and read them. The eluvians were created during this time, as well. Their initial design was by June, but their construction truly was a joint project between all of the Evanuris.” He gave Varric and Tamaris a rueful smile. “A cooperative project between seven confident and powerful mages: can you imagine? It really is something to marvel at.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dorian interjected. “It’s hard enough getting even three brilliant mages on the same page. Tamaris, do you recall that argument I had with Solas and Vivienne that almost resulted in a custard pudding being thrown at–”

Varric cleared his throat. “Maybe not right now, Sparkler.”

Felassan snickered. “Save that story for later, though. I would like to hear it.”

Tamaris _harrumph_ ed. “We’ll probably need the comic relief later.”

Felassan shot her a quick sympathetic look before going on. “This time of great intellectual and artistic growth is the time that Solas was so proud of, and that he is so wistful for. He told me that this was when he began to grow strong, feeding from and feeding back into the pride that his people had in themselves. He and Mythal became very close during this time, as she was the Evanuris’s de facto leader and the most clever and creative of them all.” Felassan’s expression grew serious, and he looked at Varric. “This was also the time that the Evanuris’s explorations took them underground, to the places that you now call the deep roads.”

Varric sighed and tugged an earring. “Oh shit. Here we go.”

Felassan gave him a wry little smile. “This was some two thousand years or so after the Great War was over. Andruil had made contact with a strange people who lived underground, toiling like ants to tend to something that they called ‘ _isana_ ’.”

Tamaris frowned. “ _Isana_. That’s the old dwarven word for lyrium, according to Valta.”

Felassan nodded, and Varric frowned. “‘Toiling like ants’? That’s not very flattering.”

“It does seem rather insulting, doesn’t it?” Felassan said lightly. “In any case, Mythal decided to accompany Andruil to the deep roads to get more information about these strange _durgen’lin_ — these children of the stone. Upon her arrival to the deep roads, Mythal found the lyrium that Andruil had spoken of. And she found a race of people who, to her horror and pity, had no connection whatsoever to the Fade.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows jumped up at this, and Varric sat forward slightly. “Hang on. So the ancient dwarves never had a connection to the Fade?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Felassan said. 

Varric frowned and rubbed his chin. “Then why…?”

Felassan picked up where he trailed off. “Why do mages and the Dalish and everyone else think that the dwarves were cut off from the Fade somehow? An excellent question.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “A better question might be this: since when in the history of any culture has something different ever been accepted simply as a difference and not a deficiency?”

Tamaris grimaced at his bluntness, and Varric let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s grim, Jester. Even for you.”

Dorian spoke up in a serious tone. “Grim but true, unfortunately.”

Tamaris looked up at Felassan. “Mythal conquered the dwarves, didn’t she?” she said quietly.

He nodded again, and his expression was utterly somber. “Her intentions were… benevolent, if you can call them that. She pitied the dwarves for their inability to draw from the Fade. She pitied the fact that they could not hear the hum of the Fade. She and Andruil, with Elgar’nan’s support, went into the deep roads and took control of the dwarves’ domain, in the name of trying to help them access the Fade.”

Tamaris inhaled slowly; Felassan’s words were making her feel faintly nauseous. “What do you mean, trying to help them access the Fade?”

Dorian answered. “Experiments,” he said grimly. “That’s what you mean, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Felassan said quietly. “She experimented on the dwarves. The experiments were largely unsuccessful. And yet, despite their inability to access the Fade, the dwarves had access to lyrium: to this incredible source of power that was so potent that it poisoned anyone who approached it. Anyone who wasn’t a dwarf, that is,” he added, “since the ancient dwarves were completely immune to lyrium’s poisoning effects.”

“Immune?” Varric said in surprise. “Actually immune? Not just resistant?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “Perhaps immune isn’t the right word. What is the word I’m looking for…?” He pinched his lip thoughtfully and muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment, then looked up at Tamaris and Varric. “When you entered the Titan with Valta. You said that something happened to her. She became connected to the Titan in some way?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “She did something that looked like a spell, and she was all… calm and wise.” She looked askance at Varric, hoping for help to describe how strange Valta had been.

“She said she was pure,” Varric said. “It was pretty weird.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “Pure. She used that word? ‘Pure’?”

“Yeah,” Varric said warily. “Is that significant?”

“More than you know,” Felassan said. “In any case, the way she was connected to the Titan, as per your descriptions: from what I’ve been able to discern and from what Fen’Harel told me, this is the way that all of the dwarves were once connected to lyrium — which, as you know, is Titan blood.”

Dorian spoke up. “So you’re saying that there was once a time that all dwarves had perfect control over the power of lyrium?”

“That’s my understanding,” Felassan said.

“Then Mythal appeared,” Dorian said, “and she began experimenting. And she… broke that connection?”

Felassan sighed. “In part. But the experiments were not the only problem. It was…” He sighed again and scratched the back of his head, then shot Tamaris a wary look.

She blinked. “What?”

He eyed her for a second longer, then let out a little laugh. “I can just imagine his face if he knew I was telling you this.”

She frowned. “You’re not his agent anymore, Felassan. It’s up to you to tell us whatever you want.”

“I know, _avise_ ,” he said. “It’s just… I can understand why he kept certain things to himself. Not everything,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “but some things.” He sighed. “The greatest mistake — the greatest act of Elvhen hubris — was not the experimentation on the dwarves per se, though that was a mistake to say the least.”

“The very least,” Varric muttered.

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “Mythal’s greatest mistake was in going deeper into the deep roads — deep enough that she found the Titan’s heart.”

Tamaris’s heart seized. “Mythal killed the Titan, didn’t she?” she asked.

“No,” he said, to Tamaris’s surprise. “She didn’t kill the Titan. She carved out a piece of its heart in order to use its power, and in so doing, she damaged the Titan and forever disrupted its song — an act that had damaging consequences that have lasted to this day.”

Varric sighed heavily. “The song,” he said. “It’s always about how lyrium sings. Regular lyrium has a song, red lyrium has a creepy song, Valta talked about the stone singing to her…”

“The Wardens spoke of the calling as being a song,” Dorian said. 

Tamaris frowned. “But that’s different, isn’t it? That’s because they’re tied to darkspawn.”

Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose that’s true.”

“No, Dorian,” Felassan said. “You make a fair point. Darkspawn are tainted with the Blight, so it is tied to lyrium.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “How? Just because lyrium can be blighted too?”

Felassan waved a careless hand. “You’ll see. All in good time.”

Varric sighed and glanced at the sending crystal. “He’s worse than I am with the suspense-building.”

Dorian and Felassan chuckled, but Tamaris didn’t laugh. She looked up at Felassan with wide eyes. “Wait a minute, though. You told me that Templar powers are just a different form of magic powered by lyrium.”

“That is true, yes,” Felassan said.

“Wait, seriously?” Varric exclaimed.

Dorian snorted. “Oh, that makes a great deal of sense. And is terribly ironic to boot.”

Felassan smiled, then looked at Tamaris once more. “What are you thinking, _avise_?”

“If Templar powers are just magic,” she said, “then… then the ancient dwarves’ powers — and Valta’s powers — are a kind of magic too. They had to be.”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Exactly.”

Varric stared at him, then slumped back in his chair with a stunned look. “Andraste’s sacred ass.”

Dorian’s reply was indignant. “If the ancient dwarves were magical, why did Mythal think they weren’t?”

Felassan shrugged. “It was magic the likes of which the Evanuris had never before seen or felt. They didn’t understand it, so they dismissed it.”

Frustrated, Tamaris lowered her face to her hands, then dragged her hands over her braided hair. “For fuck’s sake,” she spat, and she glared at Felassan. “Why couldn’t they just leave the dwarves alone?”

He shrugged again. “It’s funny how often people think they must destroy something in order to truly understand it.”

“This isn’t funny!” she snapped.

“And I’m not really joking,” Felassan said calmly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

She blew out a sharp breath, then looked at Varric, and her heart twisted; Varric looked unusually angry.

“Chuckles knew about this, didn’t he?” Varric said quietly, and Tamaris’s stomach dropped; she hadn’t thought of that. 

She whipped around to look at Felassan. When she saw the look on Felassan’s face, her stomach twisted even further. “He knew?” she said faintly.

Felasan nodded slowly. “He accompanied Mythal for much of her travels in the deep roads.”

 _Fuck,_ Tamaris thought. Solas had watched Mythal experimenting on the dwarves and treating them like lesser creatures, and he hadn’t stopped her?

She took a deep breath to try and ease the pain in her chest. Dorian broke the tense silence. “That explains why there were so many wolf statues in that one place in the deep roads. You know the one, where the qunari were mining lyrium.”

Tamaris took another breath. “Yeah,” she said. She looked at Varric once more, and her pulse jolted with worry. The last time she’d seen him look this angry was when they’d discovered that Bianca had gotten mixed up with Corypheus’s Wardens. 

She stood up and went to sit on the armrest of his chair. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head slowly and looked up at her. “Do you remember him talking to me about the ancient dwarves? He made it sound like _I_ was doing something wrong by not trying to bring back my so-called heritage like some Orzammar lord. And he was there the whole time, watching this Mythal person chip it away.”

His voice was hard with anger. Tamaris squeezed his arm in sympathy, then looked at Felassan, who was now wearing that dreaded look of millenia-old sadness. “Solas really agreed with Mythal’s actions against the dwarves?” she asked.

Felassan twisted his lips. “Keep in mind that Solas was still a spirit at the time of all of this. Mythal was proud of her… achievements, shall we say, and thus Solas was proud as well. He reflected and embodied her pride, and he was strengthened by it. But he was not… necessarily capable of understanding what was wrong with what had been done.”

Varric sighed loudly and shook his head. “This spirit shit is beyond me.”

Felassan sat up on the couch and folded his legs. “If it is of comfort to you, he realized Mythal’s errors once he became an elf.” He gave them a small twisted smile. “Yet another thing he bore considerable guilt about.”

“Yeah, well, he had a funny way of showing it,” Varric retorted.

Tamaris patted his shoulder soothingly. “He had a funny way of showing a lot of things.” She smiled wryly. “I mean, think about it. His way of telling me he loved me was by breaking up with me, right?”

Varric looked up at her in surprise, and Dorian’s words carried equal surprise. “Did you just make a joke about Solas breaking up with you?”

“Um, yes,” she said slowly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason,” Dorian said. “I mean, you absolutely can. I just… am surprised you would.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s kind of funny in retrospect.” She looked at Varric, who was looking at her in an appraising way.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s – really, it’s nothing.”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed and folded her arms. “That’s the last time I try to make a fucking joke.”

“I liked your joke,” Felassan said. 

He was smiling at her in a way that made her heart flip. He waved for her to approach. “Come here.” 

She huffed. “Bossy,” she muttered, but she rose from Varric’s chair and went to sit on the couch beside Felassan. 

He draped his arm around her with a smile, then addressed Dorian. “By the way, I answered your question. The orb of power that Solas had was essentially a refined chunk of Titan heart.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Well, that’s almost disappointingly simple.”

“Not if you get into the mechanics of it,” Felassan said. “But we can discuss that another time on our own. If Tamaris won’t be jealous about it.”

She tutted and tried to push him away, but he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, let’s move on. So Mythal carved out a piece of Titan heart—”

“She and Andruil carved out several, actually,” Felassan corrected. “One for each of the Evanuris. They were still getting along at that time, you see.”

“Right,” Varric said. “So she carves out seven pieces of Titan heart, ruins the ancient dwarves’ connection to the Titans and weakens their resistance to lyrium, and the ancient elves are all, ‘hurray! Three cheers for the conquering heroes!’ Literally.”

Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “An incredibly sarcastic and accurate summary. I like it.”

“As do I,” Dorian said. “Please keep summarizing events this way for us, Varric.”

“I live to entertain,” Varric said dryly.

Felassan smiled at him, then continued his telling. “Now, back on the surface in Arlathan, the Evanuris were rising beyond the status of mere heroes. They had enormous powerful dragons under their thrall, and each of them had become more unfathomably powerful than before thanks to their secret orbs, carved straight from a Titan’s heart. The mining and import of lyrium began, which brought even more raw power into the empire, and the artistic and intellectual endeavours of the Elvhen people continued to flourish. But this new power that Mythal had introduced was poorly understood, and the consequences of this poor understanding would take centuries to manifest.” He looked at Tamaris and Varric in turn. “This is when the Evanuris really came to be seen as gods. And this is when the corruption of my people truly began.”

She smiled faintly despite her disquiet. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

He smiled in return and squeezed her shoulder. “I know how much you enjoy it. In any case, many things were happening in the heart of Elvhenan. At first blush, this will all seem like gossip, but I assure you that it is relevant.” He released her and leaned back casually. “Andruil was growing jealous of Solas, who was starting to supplant her as Mythal’s so-called favourite. Solas, in the meantime, had made a new acquaintance: a young woman of great power and creativity who bore a special interest in animals and creatures.”

“Special interest…” Tamaris mused. Then she looked up with wide eyes. “You mean Ghilan’nain. Solas was friends with Ghilan’nain?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “A very long time ago. In fact, it was Solas who first brought Ghilan’nain to Mythal’s attention. Ghilan’nain was brilliant and bold, or so I’m told, and her pride drew Solas’s interest. He mentioned her to Mythal, and Mythal sent Andruil to learn more about this brilliant young woman.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric deadpanned.

Felassan let out a little chuckle that fell a little flat. “Quite,” he said. “Andruil quickly became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, and we spoke already of how Ghilan’nain and Andruil… egged each other on, so to speak. But Ghilan’nain and Solas were good friends, and Andruil was already jealous of Solas for having Mythal’s affection and trust… A messy situation all in all.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if I could sell the rights to some Orlesian playwright and reap the royalties.”

“Please don’t,” Tamaris said flatly. “The humans will just use it as more of a reason to look down on us.”

“I’m kidding, of course,” Felassan said. “This looks worse on me than it does even on you, after all.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the height of the Elvhen empire.” He gave Tamaris and Varric a wry look. “Nothing lasts forever, not even the glory of an empire of immortal beings. Eventually, the cooperation among the Evanuris began to crumble. Competitions and rivalries arose: petty feuds and bitter jealousies. The Evanuris began to form factions — Sylaise with Andruil, Falon’Din with Elgar’nan — but even those factions didn’t last for long. It was during this time, when the strife among the gods began to rise, that Mythal asked Solas to adopt a body and truly join her at her side.”

Dorian piped up from the crystal. “So he became an elf at Mythal’s request?”

Felassan nodded. “Mythal was his closest companion, and the person he felt the greatest affinity to. When she requested his assistance and companionship, he agreed. He left his spirit life behind and adopted a corporeal form.” A slow but broad smile lit his face. “And in so doing, he took Arlathan society by storm.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he liked to party, and he did it well,” Felassan said with a grin. “He was…” He looked at Tamaris. “How was it that you said he described himself? ‘Young, cocky, and ready to fight’?”

She huffed. “That’s it, yes.”

Dorian and Varric scoffed, and Felassan chuckled. “Hard to believe, perhaps, but that was Solas in his youth. He was charismatic and charming, and beloved by most of Arlathan. Not by Andruil, though; her jealousy only grew worse once she and Solas truly began treading the same paths in society.”

“Does her jealousy, er, matter in the long term?” Dorian asked.

Felassan shot the crystal a mock-affronted look. “You wound me by suggesting otherwise. Of course it matters.”

“My apologies,” Dorian said. “Go on.”

Felassan rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ve been remiss. I should describe what Andruil was like, and perhaps my focus on her will make more sense. She was forceful and commanding, which is not a bad thing in itself, but she had…” He twisted his lips. “Let’s call it a mean streak. She was a brilliant hunter, but one who shamelessly enjoyed the kill. She was compelling, but more out of intimidation than persuasion. As time went on, her mean streak only became more tangible. Her devotion to Ghilan’nain was probably her greatest virtue, but even that was…” He trailed off and smiled at them, but the smile was hardly humorous. “I joked about Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s liaison before, but from what I observed and what Solas told me of the young Ghilan’nain — before she met Andruil, I mean — their mutual devotion was a poison to them both.”

Tamaris pulled a little face. “That’s… that’s really shitty.”

“It is unfortunate, yes,” Felassan said quietly. “How different things could have been if…” He trailed off again, then looked up with a smile. “Forgive me. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He chuckled and rubbed his forehead, but Tamaris could clearly hear the fatigue beneath his mirth.

She shifted closer to him on the couch and rubbed his knee. “Do you want a break? This is a lot to get into.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t stop now. Not when things are getting good.”

She frowned worriedly; his smile wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He stroked her hair, then looked at Varric. “This is the time I was born into,” he said. “My people’s greatest achievements were largely behind them, and our revered leaders were beginning to fight amongst themselves. The pillars of our greatness were being slowly eaten away by a sea of small-minded selfishness.”

His tone was bitter, and Tamaris squeezed his arm. He gave her a tight smile, then took a deep breath before continuing in a more measured tone. “Class divisions were clear, from noble to peasant, but those divisions were… worsening, so to speak.” For Varric and Dorian’s benefit, he explained, “I was born as a servant of into Andruil’s household.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose, and Felassan gave him a crooked and humourless smile. “Oh yes, that cruel and talented huntress herself. I say I was a servant, but by the time I was old enough to understand the difference between a servant and a slave, the distinction no longer existed.”

Dorian sighed. “ _Fasta vass_. I am… so sorry, my friend.”

Felassan inclined his head politely. “Thank you. Truth be told, I was more fortunate than some. I was among the first slaves that Solas ever freed.”

Tamaris took his hand and laced her fingers with his. “I’m glad you didn’t have to suffer for long.”

“As am I,” he said. “Two hundred years or so is nothing compared to the suffering that some endured.”

Tamaris and Varric gaped at him, and Dorian exclaimed through the crystal. “Two hundred years as a slave?” 

Felassan waved them off. “As I said, it was a drop in the ocean compared to some. Do not feel sorry for me. You can feel sorry for my parents, but not for me.”

Her gut suddenly twisted. He’d never mentioned his parents before. “What happened to your parents?” she asked weakly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smile lifted his lips. He chuckled and shook his head, and when he met her gaze, his eyes were faintly bright. “Remember how we spoke of Ghilan’nain and her experiments?”

Her heart stopped for a split second. “Oh gods,” she breathed. “Oh fuck. Felassan…” She took his hands in hers.

He chuckled inappropriately, and Tamaris gently squeezed his hands. He took a deep calming breath, then met her eyes once more. “Don’t feel sorry for me, _avise_ ,” he said. “It is a pain worn down to dullness like the glass that you find in the sea.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Sorry, Jester,” he said quietly. “That’s rough.”

“You have my condolences as well,” Dorian said.

Felassan let out a little laugh that sounded more normal. “Cheer up, all of you. This story was meant to be entertaining.” He gently disentangled his hands from Tamaris’s, then draped his arm around her.

She tucked herself snugly against his side, and he smiled at her before tapping his chin. “Where was I? Oh yes: Solas setting me free. He’d taken a special interest in the wellbeing of slaves.”

Varric huffed. “That’s weirdly altruistic for a guy who watched Mythal crushing the dwarves.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “I am not making an excuse for him when I say that adopting a body humbled him. I have known several people who transitioned from spirit to elf, and I can guarantee that the transformation changed the way that Solas thought, if not his general… spirit, for lack of a better word. In any case, he channeled his boldness and his pride to justice for the empire’s slaves. He charmed and tricked and snuck his way into the Evanuris’s households and set free their slaves one by one — a few at a time, so the Evanuris wouldn’t notice — and Mythal welcomed us into her household instead. At least she did at first, when there weren’t so many of us and they could hide what Solas was doing.”

Tamaris frowned. “What happened when there were too many of you to hide?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Give me time, _avise_. I’ll get there.”

She _tsk_ ed. He smiled cheekily at her, then began to tick off his fingers as he spoke. “At that point in time, the Evanuris were starting to fight among themselves, and Mythal was trying to keep the peace. Solas’s attention was divided between helping Mythal, freeing the slaves in secret, and his growing concerns about Ghilan’nain, whose experiments were becoming more disturbing. Solas eventually explained his concerns about Ghilan’nain to Mythal, and the Evanuris decided to offer Ghilan’nain a deal: she was to stop her experimentation and destroy her more disturbing monsters, and in exchange, the Evanuris would raise her to their status and would bestow upon her the greatest symbol that signified their status: that final Forgotten One in draconic form.”

Dorian spoke up. “But that still doesn’t explain how there were eight Forgotten One dragons and only seven Old Gods.”

Felassan grinned at Varric and Tamaris. “Is he always this impatient?”

Varric smiled ruefully. “Take it as a compliment,” he said. “That’s how you know you’re telling a story he likes.”

Dorian grumbled through the crystal, and Felassan chuckled. “Oh, good. Anyway, the Evanuris’s attempts to curb Ghilan’nain came too late. Around this same time, Andruil had been taking longer absences from her lands, and by all accounts, she was stranger and more cruel with every return. Much later, later than any of us could have prevented, we found out that…” He sighed. “By the time Ghilan’nain was ascended to the status of an Evanuris, Andruil had already brought back a gift for her from her hunts — a gift that…” He paused and licked his lips. “A gift that unnerved Solas when he eventually discovered it, and his apprehension was enough to terrify those of us who knew him well.”

Tamaris’s gut twisted with dread. “What was it? What did she bring back?”

Felassan smiled at her, but his smile was all wrong. “You know what he brought back, _avise_.”

She gazed at him in horror, but it was Varric who said the words. “Red lyrium,” he said hoarsely. 

“Yes,” Felassan confirmed. “It was Andruil who brought red lyrium to our people from the depths of the dwarven lands — or, as these lands would eventually come to be known, the Void.”

“Why?” Tamaris said tensely. “Why would she do that?”

Once again, Varric answered. “It whispered to her, right? That has to be it.” He sounded tired and sad, and Tamaris shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I suspect that you’re right,” Felassan said. “She was seeking power, so she must have gone to its source: the lyrium mine, which was still mainly guarded by dwarves but was under elven control. Red lyrium and its corrupted song would have lured Andruil’s interest and called to her natural cruelty, and upon finding it, she brought it out of the Void and back to our people — specifically to Ghilan’nain.”

“Why the fuck did she need more power?” Tamaris burst out. “She already had a piece of Titan heart!”

Felassan gave her a fond look. “Aren’t you sweet for asking such a question?”

Dorian chuckled. “She is quite precious, isn’t she? Even after everything that she’s had to do.”

Tamaris curled her lip and folded her arms. “Don’t condescend to me, you assholes.”

“We’re not,” Felassan said. “I’m genuinely charmed by the humility that your question implies. To answer your question, Andruil didn’t _need_ more power. She simply wanted it. Or in this case, she wanted it for Ghilan’nain, but she certainly made use of the red lyrium power herself. By the time Solas realized what was going on with Andruil and Ghilan’nain and the red lyrium, it was…” Felassan shook his head ruefully. “His position in society was growing precarious. His work freeing the slaves was too extensive to hide, and he had begun construction of a fortress to house us.”

Tamaris’s eyes went wide. “He started building Skyhold?”

“ _We_ started building it, yes,” Felassan said. “He also began working on a type of magical… shield for us that would repel others’ perception and magical interference, and that would allow us to continue freeing slaves in secret.”

“A shield to repel perception?” Dorian said sharply. “You mean that it made you invisible?”

“It made us difficult to detect and to enact magic on,” Felassan said.

“Interesting,” Dorian said keenly.

Felassan smiled faintly. “It will be, soon. Anyway, as popular and well-liked as Solas had once been at parties, his activities with the slaves were making him equally _un_ popular. Mythal was having great difficulty justifying her favour of Solas when he was actively antagonizing all of her compatriots. When he took his suspicions about red lyrium to Mythal, she almost didn’t act on them for fear of disrupting the delicate balance she was holding between the Evanuris and the counsel of her beloved wolf.”

“What did he tell Mythal, exactly?” Tamaris asked. “What did he know about red lyrium?”

Varric sat forward in his chair. “That’s what _I_ want to know. If this was the first time that red lyrium was ever seen, that means it’s the first time the Blight was ever seen, right?”

Felassan hesitated, then sighed. “What Solas told Mythal is that Andruil brought back a form of corrupted lyrium from the deep roads — lyrium that had a detrimental, corrupting effect on the minds of those who used it. He asked Mythal to go back to the deep roads and seal off the lyrium mines to stop any further red lyrium from being removed.”

“Let me guess,” Tamaris said flatly. “She refused.”

“Not exactly, no,” Felassan said. “She went and investigated in the deep roads. Shortly after, she returned — and by shortly, I mean fifty years later or so, an incredibly short time in ancient Elvhen time. Another few years later, the Evanuris’s mighty dragons were no longer seen at the Evanuris’s palatial compounds.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows quizzically, but Dorian spoke up. “The Evanuris moved them to the deep roads?” he said.

Felassan gestured playfully to the sending crystal. “And so you see, the pieces start to come together.”

Dorian sighed in satisfaction. “That’s a satisfying mystery to have solved. I always wondered how in the Maker’s name a handful of enormous dragons found themselves underground.”

Tamaris frowned. “The Evanuris moved their dragons to the deep roads… but those were their big symbols of power. They wouldn’t have moved their symbols of power out of sight unless something really unnerved them.” She looked up at Felassan. “The archdemons are guarding something, aren’t they?”

Felassan smiled at her, but the expression held only sadness. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Solas said that the dragons were being placed around the Titan to prevent anyone else from taking more power where they didn’t need it.”

“But that isn’t the real reason, is it?” Tamaris pushed. “That’s not really why the dragons were put there.”

Felassan sighed. “I can’t confirm this with certainty, because Solas would not confirm it for me. He was too… frankly, I believe that he was terrified of anyone knowing for sure what the dragons were guarding. But this is what I think.” He looked her in the eye, and his violet eyes held a fathomless depth of sorrow. 

“I think that the Titan heart is the original source of the Blight,” he said. “I think the Evanuris placed their dragons there not only to keep anyone from getting in, but also to prevent the Blight from getting out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References:**  
>  \- Mythal bursting in on the ancient dwarves, destroying the Titan, and experimenting on the ancient dwarves is extrapolated from these codex entries: [this one](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Veilfire_Runes_in_the_Deep_Roads) found collected from the secret mural in the deep roads in Trespasser, [this horrible one](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Old_Elven_Writing) that’s found only if your Inquisitor drank from the Well of Sorrows, and [the torn notebook entries ](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Torn_Notebook_in_the_Deep_Roads,_Section_3)by the elven viddathari, also in the Trespasser deep roads. As an aside, I hypothesize that Sandal is a legacy of Mythal’s experiments on the ancient dwarves. Whether that means he’s the descendant of ancient dwarves that she experimented on, or maybe he is an ancient dwarf (I haven’t thought it through!!! Don’t @ me!!!), is up for discussion.  
> \- The hypothesis that the orbs of power are formed from Titan hearts is from [this Corseque meta post. ](https://corseque.tumblr.com/post/130122454682)  
> \- If anyone hasn’t listened to/read all of [Varric and Solas’s dialogue,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Solas/Dialogue#Solas_and_Varric) I really recommend it. It’s… heart-wrenching and eye-opening.  
> \- The heavy implication in this chapter that there was an eighth Old God comes from [this codex entry about a constellation.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Constellation:_Draconis)  
> \- The idea that Solas and Ghilan’nain were once friends is inspired by [Teen Wolf by galadrieljones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623606). I haven’t read this fic, but the possibility that they were friends is only something I ever considered because I’d heard of it from her. But the codex entry about [the ascension of Ghilan’nain](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_Ascension_of_Ghilan%27nain) also implies a possible cordial relationship between them at some point in time. 
> 
> Okay, you guys get a couple days' break before the next chapter. IF YOU WANT. MAYBE YOU DON'T NEED A BREAK? IDK? This shit feels dense to me, but you're all the judges. Let me know. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your humble service. xo


	25. Ancient History - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More looooooooore. I will reply to all comments as soon as I can, promise! xo

There was a brief stunned silence, which Tamaris eventually broke. “It didn’t work, though,” she said. “Putting their dragons in the deep roads to keep the Blight in was pointless. If Ghilan’nain already had a piece of red lyrium from fucking Andruil—”

Felassan cut in. “The Evanuris didn’t know it was futile. They didn’t understand the nature of the corruption that red lyrium would bring.”

“But _we_ know that now,” she argued. “We know now how red lyrium spreads. And by ‘we’, I mean the whole Inquisition, including Solas. _We_ know red lyrium can be grown like fucking plants in a garden, so why the fuck was he so mad about the Wardens wanting to kill the archdemons if all the archdemons do is lead the Blights?”

No one replied for a moment, and Tamaris realized with a jolt that she’d been yelling. 

Then Felassan laughed. 

Tamaris’s belly twisted with guilt. His laughter sounded so weary. Here he was, trying to lay out thousands of years of ancient history for them, and how did she repay him? By yelling at him.

He rubbed his face tiredly, and Tamaris sighed and leaned into his side. “I’m sorry, Felassan,” she said quietly. “I’m not mad at _you_ , I’m just…” She waved impatiently at herself. “I’m being a bitch. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being a bitch,” he said. “You’re frustrated. There is a difference.”

“Yeah, there is, and I’m definitely being a bitch,” she retorted. 

He lifted his head from his hand and smiled at her. “You are a master of charmingly crass apologies.”

She smiled faintly in return and laced her fingers with his. “Fuck off.”

He laughed again, and it sounded more genuine this time. “All right. Maybe Varric can summarize what I’ve shared so far.”

Varric nodded. “Ghilan’nain’s crazy gets rewarded by making her an Elvhen god. Meanwhile, Andruil found some red lyrium, probably from the Titan’s heart, and brought it to Ghilan’nain as a present. Chuckles finds out too late about the red lyrium and warns Mythal, who goes looking for proof and comes back with some well-warranted worries, and she gets all her god buddies to donate their dragons to guarding the Titan’s heart, since that’s where the Blight comes from.” He lifted an eyebrow at Felassan. “Or so you think.”

“A fine summary,” Felassan said. “You have my thanks.”

Varric scoffed at his faux formality, and Dorian sighed. “Well, if you think the Blight came from a Titan’s heart, I suppose it’s a good thing that the Titan we saw with Valta has mysteriously sealed itself off since our visit, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said grimly.

Varric scratched his chin. “But I don’t get it. How can the Titan heart be the source of the Blight? It didn’t have the Blight when the elves first found it, did it?”

“Not to my understanding, no,” Felassan said.

“Then how could it be the source of the Blight?”

Felassan rubbed his mouth before replying. “I’m honestly not sure. But I do have a theory, if you’d like to hear it.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Varric said wryly.

Felassan gave him a faint smile. “The theory concerns the nature of magic. Or I should say _magics_ , plural.” He looked at Tamaris. “Tamaris, Dorian: you both know the feeling of magic – the hum of power that you can feel in your body and your blood when you draw from the Fade.”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said.

Felassan nodded. “Magic drawn from the Fade has a certain… a certain vibration, for lack of a better word. Or a pattern of vibration that is unique to the Fade.” To Varric he said, “You could even call it a song, if you were being fanciful. Magic of a dwarven nature — that is, that’s tied to lyrium — vibrates, or _sings_ , in a different manner that is difficult for non-dwarves to control. I’ve spoken of this to Tamaris already, but when Templars ingest lyrium, they are forcing themselves to perceive this song that was never meant for them. It gives them powers, but it changes the way their minds and bodies work.”

Varric’s eyes widened. “That’s what makes them addicts.”

“Yes,” Felassan said. 

“But if that’s the case,” Dorian asked, “why are mages able to use lyrium? How does lyrium enhance our abilities without making us ill if it sings in a different frequency than our magic?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s possible that lyrium-based magic and Fade magic can, um… damned common tongue.” He muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment. “They might… resonate?” he said. Then he frowned. “Is that the word I’m looking for? Ah, I’ll have to use it for lack of anything better. I think these forms of magic are able to resonate if the lyrium is tamped down by being in a diluted form. If it’s diluted, the two forms of magic can sing in harmony to make an even stronger song.”

“Hm,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “A plausible theory. I’ll have to think on it, but I like it at first glance.”

“I’m thrilled to please you,” Felassan said with a smirk. He released Tamaris’s hand and leaned back casually on the couch. “Now, we know that lyrium is actually the blood of Titans, and that Titan hearts are a source of enormous power. Tell me something, all of you: did you hear a pulse from the Titan’s heart? Was there an actual heartbeat?”

“Absolutely,” Dorian said.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. “It was slow, but really obvious.”

Felassan nodded in satisfaction. “That’s what I thought. I’ve never seen a Titan’s heart, you see. But I’m fairly certain that the song of lyrium is generated by the Titan’s heart. And…” He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “May the Dread Wolf never catch my scent. He’d surely gut me for telling you this. Especially since it’s just my suspicion and I could be wrong.” He smiled at them again, but his smile held a hint of a grimace. “Let’s be sure to keep this among the four of us, shall we?”

“Certainly,” Dorian said.

“No problem, Jester,” Varric said, and Tamaris nodded her agreement.

Felassan exhaled slowly and rubbed his mouth. “I would hypothesize that what you call the Blight is actually a corrupted vibration pattern or ‘song’ caused by a damaged Titan heart.” He looked at Varric. “That’s why I thought it interesting that Valta called herself ‘pure’ once she connected with the Titan — an undamaged Titan, I should say. The lyrium from the damaged Titan became impure and corrupted.”

Varric frowned. “But why would a damaged heart mean that the song makes people turn into crazy fanatics? Why does it make them so much sicker than regular lyrium ever could?”

“Now, this _might_ sound like even more of a stretch,” Felassan said, “but I wonder if it might have something to do with the Titans having feelings. You know, seeing as they’re alive.”

Tamaris’s gut jolted. How had she not thought of that? “Oh. Fuck,” she said blankly. “Yeah, I suppose if a parade of strangers came out of nowhere and experimented on your people and started tearing out pieces of your heart, you’d be pretty pissed.”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Felassan said drolly. “And as we all know, rage can be a corrosive, noxious thing. The Titans feel rage, their rage changes the song, the song makes people into the worst versions of themselves...” He shrugged. “But that’s all conjecture.”

“It’s extremely well-considered conjecture,” Dorian said.

“Thank you,” Felassan said brightly. “I have had a little bit of time to think about it. Just a couple thousand years, you know.”

Tamaris sighed. “Fuck. All right. Well… well, all right. This tells us what the Blight is, then.”

“What the Blight _possibly_ is,” Felassan corrected. “It’s all just hypothesizing.”

She nodded, then shot him a little frown. “Why did you say Solas would gut you for telling us this?”

“I suspect he wanted to keep the so-called ‘root of all evil’ away from you,” Felassan replied. “And I meant _you_ specifically, _avise_.”

She blinked. “What? Why me?”

“Because he loved you,” Felassan said. 

She frowned. “So?” 

He gave her a chiding look. “He watched red lyrium corrupt Ghilan’nain, who was once one of his dearest friends. He watched it ruin our entire empire. Can you really not see why he would want to hide the knowledge of its source from the woman he loved?”

“That’s a paltry excuse,” Tamaris retorted. “All that tells me is that he didn’t trust me not to misuse the information.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “How are you defending him about this? You’re the one sitting here telling me all of this information!”

“I am, yes,” Felassan said. “But remember, _avise_ : I am explaining him, not defending him. As for _why_ I am telling you, the reason is simple.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I am not Solas.” 

Her heart squeezed at the seriousness of his expression. She understood what Felassan meant in the context of this conversation: that unlike Solas, he trusted her with this information. But this was not the only way that he and Solas were different.

Where Solas had been a fluctuant wave of hot and cold, Felassan was a constant wash of warmth. Felassan was certainty and humour and openness, and Tamaris did not need the reminder of how different he was from the Solas she had once thought she loved. 

“I know you’re not Solas,” she said quietly. She squeezed his knee. “I know, Felassan.”

His expression softened. Then Varric cleared his throat. “So, uh… so we think we know what the Blight is, and the dragons were probably there to keep it in check. What happened next?”

Felassan looked away from Tamaris and smiled at Varric. “Unfortunately, this is when things started to go downhill for our poor Rebel Wolf. For indeed, this is about the time when he started being called by that infamous moniker.”

“How _did_ that happen?” Tamaris asked.

“I told you that the Evanuris were getting rather tired of his antics with we uppity slaves,” Felassan said. “Sadly, his involvement in forcing them to relinquish their dragons — indirect through his involvement might have been — was the final straw. Mythal was forced to denounce him in order to maintain her power, and he publicly sundered himself from her as well, stripping his face of her vallaslin in the process.”

She recoiled slightly. “Wait. Her vallaslin? Why did Solas have Mythal’s vallaslin?”

Felassan stared at her blankly, then tapped his forehead. “Ah, I forgot to mention. Vallaslin was not always used as a marker for slaves. It began as a sign of status and reverence: facepaint that signified which Evanuris you worshipped the most. Later, it became expected that servants and nobles alike would wear the marks of their gods. Eventually it became a permanent mark that was forced upon slaves to mark which Evanuris they belonged to.” He tilted his head. “Oh, and to prevent the Evanuris from stealing each other’s slaves. Because _that_ was something that was happening at the time.”

Varric made a disgusted noise. “Unbelievable.”

“ _I_ believe it,” Dorian said grimly.

“I bet you do,” Felassan said. “No offense intended.”

“None taken, truly,” Dorian replied.

Felassan nodded. “Some devoted servants also chose to wear permanent vallaslin, such as Abelas. But as you know from your visit to the Temple of Mythal, the question of whether Abelas does anything truly by choice is… questionable.”

Morrigan’s face came to Tamaris’s mind, and she exchanged an uneasy look with Varric. Meanwhile, Felassan went on with his tale. “At any rate, Fen’Harel was cast from Mythal’s favour — or at least, that was how they made it seem. In secret, they continued to support each other as much as they could. But as you can imagine, the public sundering of their relationship made things very difficult for all of us. Meanwhile, the strife among the Evanuris was coming to a head.” He stretched his legs out and laced his fingers behind his head, but his casual posture was a clear contrast with the hardness in his face. “I told you about that terrible competition to make the most devoted servants; that was ongoing. Falon’Din began sacrificing slaves for the sheer pleasure of it, apparently. Dirthamen remained secluded in his temple working on mysterious things that nobody ever really came to understand, and slaves were being forced into pointless skirmishes on an almost daily basis. And underlying all of this was that insidious red lyrium.” A humourless smile twisted up the corners of his lips. “For Ghilan’nain and Andruil had decided so kindly to share it, you see.”

Varric sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Andraste’s silk knickers.”

“If only those would help matters,” Felassan said. “It was becoming clear that all of the Evanuris — except Mythal — were using red lyrium in their efforts to take each other down. By this time, Andruil had gone utterly mad. She was paranoid, threatening war on Arlathan itself, spouting nonsense about the song…”

Varric grunted. “Sounds familiar. Too familiar.” 

Felassan nodded somberly. “Eventually, Mythal was forced to trick Andruil into an altercation and strike her down.”

“Mythal killed Andruil?” Tamaris said in surprise.

“No, no,” Felassan said. “I don’t think she ever even intended to kill her. But even if she had intended to, she couldn’t.”

Tamaris frowned. “What do you mean, she couldn’t?”

Felassan sighed heavily, and the sound was so consummately weary that it made Tamaris’s chest ache with sympathy. “One of the most pervasive and powerful legends of the Evanuris was that they could not be killed.”

“But we already know they were immortal,” Varric said.

“I’m not talking about immortality,” Felassan said. “I’m talking about the ability to be killed. The average Elvhen of my time would live forever barring injury or rare disease. But it was possible for us to be mortally wounded, or to take so ill that we could not recover. In other words, we were immortal, but it was possible for us to die.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “The greatest legend of the Evanuris — and most terrifying, really — was that they could not die. They could not be killed. And this is a major reason why they continued to run the Empire for so long, despite their wars consuming those of us who were stuck living under their control.”

Tamaris frowned in confusion. “But Solas said that the other Evanuris killed Mythal.”

“That is what happened, yes,” Felassan said. “Or at least, it’s what we believed had happened. It’s what I thought had happened until _you_ told me that you’d met her in the flesh.”

Tamaris stared at him. This made no sense. Were the Evanuris able to be killed or not, then?

Varric spoke up before she could demand clarification. “Hawke met Mythal too, you know.”

Felassan straightened up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “But Hawke didn’t know she was an Elvhen god. She introduced herself as Flemeth.”

Felassan stared at him with a stunned look on his face, then sat back slowly. “She was walking these lands all this time… She walked these lands at the same time as me?” He shook his head slowly, then let out a soft little laugh. “ _Mythal ma ghilana_ , truly.”

“It’s all in _The Tale of the Champion_ ,” Varric said.

Felassan let out another little laugh. “Would that I had read it. If I had, I…” He trailed off and shook his head, then gazed at Tamaris with the strangest look on his face — a look that was wistful and pensive and tender all at once.

She tapped his thigh. “So you and Solas really thought she was dead?”

“We did, yes,” he said. “Her alleged murder was the main reason that Fen’Harel erected the Veil on such a rushed basis. If he had known otherwise, he…” Felassan sighed. “Perhaps more would have survived the Veil. The Vir Dirthara, the tombs. We could have… _Fenedhis_.” He lowered his head into both hands and rubbed his face.

Tamaris gently rubbed his back. “Felassan…”

He inhaled through his nose, then sat up straight and smiled at her. “It’s all right, _avise_. What’s done is done. Regret will tear you apart more brutally than a wolf’s jaws if you let it.” He exhaled sharply, then looked at Varric and Dorian’s crystal. “Where was I? Oh yes. Mythal incapacitated Andruil, which calmed things down a bit for a hundred years or so. But it was a false calm — the calm before the storm, as I’ve heard you Free Marchers saying,” he said to Varric with a half-smile. “Mythal’s display of power in taking Andruil down brought a temporary measure of peace, but it had a worse consequence: she cemented herself as the target of their ire. No longer were they set on their petty squabbles among themselves; now, having seen Andruil struck low, they set their sights on Mythal.”

Dorian spoke up. “And that’s how they killed her? By joining forces to destroy her?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “But her death — or her alleged death, I suppose — was largely orchestrated by Elgar’nan.”

“By Elgar’nan?” Tamaris said in surprise. “By her husband?”

Felassan nodded once, and Varric raised his eyebrows. “Shit.”

“Oh, shit,” Tamaris breathed. “That… makes so much sense now.”

Felassan looked at her curiously. “Explain?”

“When I met Mythal in the Fade — or Flemeth, I guess, whatever we should call her — she got angry at one point about how she and Mythal had both been betrayed by their husbands.” Tamaris tapped Felassan’s knee. “That’s what she was talking about, wasn’t it? Elgar’nan turning on her.”

“It must be,” Felassan said. “I don’t believe Mythal knew he was using red lyrium.” He shrugged. “Or maybe she knew, but didn’t believe he would do her harm.”

“The people who can hurt you the most are the ones closest to you,” Varric said matter-of-factly.

“You’re right about that,” Felassan agreed. “Elgar’nan later openly proclaimed himself as the one who took Mythal down, accusing her of all sorts of crimes against the Elvhen people in order to justify her death, and Fen’Harel… did not take it well.”

Dorian murmured an affirmative. “I think we can all imagine his rage.”

Tamaris nodded silently. Solas had not often gotten angry, but when he did, his temper both scorched and chilled her to the bone.

Felassan nodded as well. “Fen’Harel was grieving and enraged, and he was more determined than ever to stop our empire from crumbling completely — and to stop the spread of red lyrium, the effects of which were trickling through the populace thanks to the Evanuris’s experimenting and their wars. But he grew wary of a similar betrayal happening to him.” Felassan’s expression became sad as he went on. “That is when Fen’Harel really began isolating himself from the rest of us. By that time, he’d already lost much of the levity of his youth. After Mythal ‘died’, he no longer really trusted anyone. Not even Abelas, who was still recruiting Sentinels even after Mythal’s death.” He shrugged and smirked. “Not even me, even though I had been by his side since he was a beautiful young man who simply called himself Pride.”

Tamaris shifted closer to him and squeezed his thigh, and he gave her a brief smile before addressing Dorian through the crystal. “Dorian, you recall that magical shield I spoke of earlier?”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said.

Felassan draped his arms casually over the back of the couch. “The way that shield worked was by vibrating in such a way that it dimmed the magic from a vibration to a null.”

“Nullifying the Fade?” Dorian said keenly. “But that sounds similar to the Veil itself.”

Felassan smirked. “Exactly. I told you it would become interesting later.” He looked at all of them. “The shield that Fen’Harel once used to hide our activities from the Evanuris was the precursor to the Veil, which he set himself to working on day and night — when he wasn’t helping us to free as many slaves as we could from the Evanuris, that is.” His expression and tone began to harden once more. “They were rounding people up, you see. Bringing them in from the outer reaches of the Empire, then branding them with vallaslin and using them as pawns in their wars or subjects in their experiments. It was…” He clenched his jaw, then let out a stiff-sounding little laugh. “It was a very busy time. We were never bored, I’ll tell you that.”

A respectful moment of silence ensued. Then Tamaris tilted her head. “Hang on a second. I’m still… this whole Mythal-not-being-dead issue. You and Solas thought she was truly dead. But if the legends said the Evanuris couldn’t be killed…” 

Felassan quirked an eyebrow, and Tamaris frowned. “The Evanuris must have known she _could_ be killed if that’s what they set out to do, even if they failed. So was it a legend they perpetuated themselves? Or was it partly true? I feel like I’m missing something there.”

A slow smile lit his handsome face. “You picked up on that problem, did you? Good girl.”

 _Cheeky bastard,_ she thought. She shot him a chiding look, and his smile widened for a moment before growing serious once more. “You’re correct, though. The legend that they couldn’t be killed was… _fenedhis_ , it was so pervasive that many of us took it for granted as being true, even though it had never been proven. To make matters more confusing, Fen’Harel never refuted the legend. That led _me_ to believe it was true. But then Mythal died, and Fen’Harel was convinced that she was dead…” He frowned slightly and rubbed his chin, then looked up at them once more. “I have another theory to share, if you’re willing to hear more of my hypotheses.”

Tamaris and Varric nodded, and Dorian’s voice came through the crystal. “Go on.”

“Based on Fen’Harel’s behaviour,” Felassan said, “he must have known the Evanuris could not be killed — and more importantly, he must have known _why_ or _how_ they could not be killed, which is why he believed that Mythal was truly dead.” He looked at Tamaris and Varric in turn. “I told you before that there were eight surviving Forgotten Ones that were forced to assume the shape of enormous dragons, and each was bound to an Evanuris.”

A sudden bolt of understanding rocketed through Tamaris’s body. “Oh gods,” she breathed.

Varric straightened in his chair. “What?”

“Oh gods. Oh fuck.” She looked at Felassan, whose eyebrows were raised expectantly. “I know where you’re going with this.”

“ _Venhedis,_ ” Dorian blurted. “I believe I know as well.”

Felassan smiled and rested one ankle on his other knee. “Go on. I’d like to hear what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking of our dear old friend Corypheus,” Dorian said.

“So am I,” Tamaris said in disgust.

“Oh shit,” Varric said suddenly. “Wait. Are you saying the Evanuris’s dragons were like that dragon Corypheus had? They stopped the Evanuris from being killable?”

Felassan chuckled and laced his hands behind his head. “Look at all of you. I hardly need to be here, do I?”

Dorian spoke from the crystal. “So that must mean the archdemons were not just under the thrall of the Evanuris, but actually contained some essence of the Evanuris that prevented them from being killed.”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead in confusion. “But Cassandra asked Solas if Corypheus’s dragon was an archdemon and he said no!”

“He was speaking the truth,” Felassan said. “Corypheus’s dragon wasn’t an archdemon. From what you’ve all told me, there is a crucial difference between the dragons you call archdemons and Corypheus’s dragon.”

Dorian answered. “The archdemons contain a sentient soul. Corypheus’s dragon didn’t.”

“Precisely,” Felassan said. 

Tamaris idly ran her hand over her hair. “So… so what archdemons really are is a Forgotten One, bound in the form of a dragon and tied to an Evanuris’s… life essence or something, which prevents the Evanuris from really being killed.”

“Careful with your tidy summaries,” Felassan said playfully. “You’re stealing Varric’s role. But yes, that is my theory.”

Varric tapped his fingers on his armrest. “Since Mythal _isn’t_ dead, her dragon’s gotta be alive somewhere now.”

“That’s a logical conclusion, yes,” Felassan said.

“But we only know the location of seven archdemons,” Dorian said.

Felassan tilted his head. “Tell us again how many there were? I don’t think you’ve reminded us enough times.”

Dorian snorted a laugh. “ _Vishante kaffas._ ”

“Seriously though,” Tamaris said. “Where the fuck is Mythal’s archdemon?”

“Honestly?” Felassan said. “I have no idea. Solas must have thought it had been killed, or he would not have been so convinced of Mythal’s death. All that I can conclude is that Mythal hid her dragon somewhere without anyone knowing, including Solas.” He shrugged. “She had to have known that betrayal was coming. She had to have been expecting it.”

“What a shitty way to live,” Tamaris remarked.

“I imagine it was,” Felassan said quietly.

His amethyst gaze was soft, and Tamaris realized what he was thinking of: her ongoing expectations of betrayal. Expectations that she was gradually letting go of, but which still rose up to haunt her at inopportune times. 

But Tamaris was not Mythal, and Felassan was not Elgar’nan. She had no reason to expect betrayal, aside from the fact that she’d experienced it in the past with Solas. But even then, if she stripped her relationship with Solas down to just the facts, he was not like Elgar’nan either. He had never maliciously intended to betray her. Hell, if she was being generous, she could even argue that he’d tried to do the ‘right thing’ by keeping his distance from her at first. 

And now, having heard what Solas had been through — everything that Solas had never been able to say to her face — she somehow felt a little more healed. 

Varric sighed. “All right. So Mythal is dead as far as anyone knows, and the Evanuris are fighting among themselves like Carta merchants fighting over a lyrium vein. Chuckles is trying to make the Veil and freeing as many slaves as he can. And then he just… raises the Veil, and rest is history?”

Felassan laughed. “Ah, the art of summarizing a few hundred years in a couple of sentences. But yes, that’s essentially what happened. As I mentioned before, Fen’Harel was actually forced to raise the Veil in more of a rush than he intended, which is why it is naturally thinner in some places.”

“Why exactly did he have to put it up in a rush?” Dorian asked.

“Because some of the Evanuris were talking about removing their dragons from the Void,” Felassan said. “From their guardianship positions, I should say. And as ineffectual as those dragons might seem since the Blight has spread regardless, I have a hard time believing that their presence in the Void was completely useless.”

Tamaris folded her arms. “Why is it so hard to believe?”

“Because Fen’Harel had such conviction in their presence in the Void,” Felassan said. “And as you can see from all of this, he did _not_ like red lyrium. It corrupted Ghilan’nain and led to the apparent death of Mythal. It turned the most creative and innovative minds of the Elvhen empire into petty, manipulative, cruel conquerors that no longer cared about their people. If Fen’Harel believed that the dragons served a role in holding back the Blight, I believe it too. And that,” he said quietly, “is why Solas was so angry about the killing of archdemons. They may be keeping the Evanuris alive, but I believe they are also standing in defense against the Blight.” 

They were all quiet for a moment more. Tamaris eventually broke the silence with a tentative question. “Felassan… how do you know that Mythal wasn’t using red lyrium, too?”

He regarded her in surprise. “What makes you think she was?”

“You mentioned that she took down Andruil, even though Andruil was hopped up on red lyrium,” Tamaris said. “Was Mythal really so powerful that she could take down another Evanuris who was enhanced by the power of red lyrium? Also, when I met her, she was… I don’t know. She was strange. She had these moments of rage and vindictiveness that really don’t sound like how Solas remembers her.” 

“Is there no other possible explanation for her vindictive rage?” Felassan said.

She frowned. “Like what?”

“Like her ties with Flemeth — the Witch of the Wilds,” Felassan said. “The corrupting influence of two betrayed souls finding one another and spending countless years together.”

Tamaris lifted her eyebrows. “You really don’t think it could be red lyrium?”

“I simply think it unlikely,” Felassan said. “Don’t get me wrong, though; I’m not discounting the possibility.” He sighed. “And that possibility makes this next topic even more disturbing.”

“Oh dear,” Dorian said. “And here I thought we had reached the peak of ominousness. Ominosity? Varric, is that a word?”

“Don’t think so,” Varric said. “But I can start using it to make it into one.”

“Splendid,” Dorian said brightly.

Tamaris gave the crystal a chiding look, even though Dorian couldn’t see. Then she turned to Felassan. “What were you going to tell us?”

He met her eye, and his expression made her belly twist with nerves; he looked faintly apologetic. “You said that Solas had become… disturbingly powerful in the two years since you saw him last,” he said.

She nodded, and Felassan slowly ran a hand over his hair before going on. “Solas would have found out during his time with the Inquisition that Mythal was still alive. It was likely around the time that Morrigan and Kieran joined you.” He turned to Varric. “Your book mentioned very little about Kieran — just that he was a strange child who spoke in the manner of a wise old soothsayer. What else can you tell me about him?”

Tamaris cut in. “Oh, he was possessed by an Old God’s soul. Sorry, that’s not in the book.”

Felassan’s face went slack with shock. “Possessed by an Old God’s soul? You’re certain?”

Varric nodded. “Cuddles asked me to leave it out so Morrigan and the kid could have some privacy.”

Tamaris spoke again. “Morrigan told me that Kieran had hosted an Old God soul for his entire life. But Mythal… took the Old God soul, or Kieran gave it to her or something. But if the Old Gods were actually the Forgotten Ones, then…” She looked up at Felassan with wide eyes, only to find him gazing at her with equally wide eyes. “Kieran actually was hosting a Forgotten One’s soul?”

“Tell me exactly what you saw between Kieran and Mythal,” Felassan said. “When the… transference happened.”

His gaze was piercingly intense, and it made the nervous feeling in her chest thrum more strongly. “It looked like a blue light came out of Kieran’s chest and then went into Mythal’s – I mean, into Flemeth’s body instead. Then the light faded.” She frowned. “Kieran said he felt lonely afterwards, which is weird if he was possessed by an evil ancient soul.”

“Assuming the Forgotten Ones were evil,” Felassan said.

Tamaris gazed at him in surprise. “But you said they were the enemies of the Elvhen empire for centuries.”

“I also said that there are multiple sides to every truth,” he said.

She frowned. “Do you know something about the Forgotten Ones that you’re not telling us?”

He smiled. “Honestly, no. I know essentially nothing of them. There is a reason _we_ called them the Forgotten Ones, too.” He sighed, then laughed in a way that clearly conveyed his fatigue. “ _Fenedhis._ This is one case where I wish I was incorrect.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” she said worriedly. “What are you thinking?”

He scratched the back of his neck, then shook his head slightly before looking up at them all. “I suspect that Solas is hosting Mythal’s soul.”

Tamaris’s breath stuttered to a halt. Solas was hosting Mythal?

“What?” Dorian exclaimed.

“Seriously?” Varric said.

Felassan nodded. “It would explain how he became so powerful so quickly.” 

Tamaris licked her dry lips. “But… but if Mythal took the Forgotten One’s soul from Kieran, and Solas has Mythal’s soul…” Her heart was vibrating with nerves to the point that it was hard to breathe. She forced herself to inhale. “He has the Forgotten One’s soul, too?”

Felassan smiled faintly, and Varric sighed. “Oh shit.”

Felassan nodded. “His head must be feeling very crowded,” he said. He was smiling, but his gaze was oddly blank, and there was an odd stillness to his smile that gave her the feeling like she was looking at a hunted rabbit. 

The anxious feeling in her chest ratcheted higher. She shifted uncomfortably against his chest, and he looked down and met her eye. His smile curled into something more genuine, and he chuckled. “Three souls in a single body, and it wasn’t even his choice to have a body in the first place. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Nobody else laughed, and Felassan _tsk_ ed. ”Such a grim bunch, all of you. All right, let me finish my tale.” He folded his arms. “By this time, Arlathan was lost to the Blight. The effects of red lyrium were obvious from the nobility down to the slaves, and half of the populace was afflicted with the madness and the sickness that it wrought. That was when Fen’Harel told us to give up on Arlathan for good.”

Tamaris stared at him, shocked both by his words and by the matter-of-fact manner that he was telling them. 

He went on in the same blunt way. “Those of us closest to Fen’Harel rushed to set the wards in place to modulate the Veil while he tweaked it at his stronghold – which we were calling _Tarasyl’an te’las_ by that time. He managed to trick the Evanuris into a singular location of the deep Fade and snare them there for long enough to activate the Veil, and…” He lifted his hands. “ _Poof._ The Veil appeared, the Evanuris fell, and the Elvhen empire fell with them.”

“And you and Solas and the other ancient elves fell into _uthenara_?” Tamaris asked softly.

“Not right then and there, no.” He chuckled. “We didn’t all drop on the spot from the sudden lack of magic, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Oh,” she said, a little sheepishly. That was kind of what she’d been imagining.

He smiled. “No, no. No sudden dramatic crumpling of thousands of elves. We were all immediately weakened, though.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “It was rather like waking up in this time, but even worse. Fen’Harel nearly died from overextending himself – a phenomenon that was unheard of before the Veil. A few of our people got him to safety before he succumbed to _uthenara_ , and the rest of us went into hiding one by one to take our naps as well.”

“Taking Solas to safety…” Dorian said pensively. “Yes, I suppose falling asleep in his own fortress would be unwise. Too much of an invitation for enemies.”

“Probably,” Felassan said. “Though perhaps not as unwise as one would think. The wards he set on Skyhold were very potent. Still potent, if what you’ve told me is true,” he said to Tamaris. He shrugged. “Regardless, he was whisked away to an obscure hiding place to wait until he regained his strength.”

“Hang on,” Varric said. He leaned forward in his seat. “An obscure hiding place? Do you know where it was?”

“No, actually,” Felassan said. “I wasn’t one of the agents who took him there. Somewhere in the northern end of the empire somewhere, I believe.”

That tweaked Tamaris’s memory. “Hang on. In the north? Didn’t Solas say–?”

“–he’d been born in a village in the north?” Varric finished. “Yep.”

Tamaris scoffed. “For fuck’s sake. That sneaky shit.”

Felassan chuckled. “He really was a sneaky bastard, wasn’t he? But still, he was telling you the truth. That is the place in this world that he took his first steps.” 

“That’s a fucking loophole and you know it,” Tamaris said in a hard voice. “It’s still dishonest.”

Felassan snickered, and Tamaris poked his belly. “Stop laughing!”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. It’s just – he tried so hard to hide the truth while telling it at the same time…” He snorted another laugh. “He really was an ass.”

Tamaris glared at him while he chuckled. But when he met her eye, she felt the corners of her lips twitch.

He smiled more widely. When Tamaris finally gave in and smiled, Felassan laughed again, and a moment later, both of them were laughing together on the couch. 

Varric sighed good-naturedly. When they finally settled, Dorian spoke up. “If you two mad twits have finished laughing, perhaps Felassan can enlighten us as to Solas’s next steps.”

“Truthfully, I couldn’t tell you,” Felassan said. “I was Tranquil for five years, remember? I’m just as surprised as you to learn that he’s hosting three souls in that one poor body of his. Whatever he is planning, though, I’m sure it’ll be spectacular. Fen’Harel now has claim to two additional immortal lifetimes’ worth of knowledge, and knowledge is the kind of power that Fen’Harel has always made the best use of.” He chuckled and laced his fingers behind his head once more. “I feel so fortunate to have been woken during such exciting times.”

Varric huffed. “Huh. I’m the opposite. This all just makes me want to take a nap.”

“A nap would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Felassan said. He stretched his arms and shifted so he was lazily stretched out on the couch once more. “Ah, and we didn’t even open those chocolates you brought.”

Varric picked up the forgotten box of Antivan chocolates and opened it, and Dorian _tsk_ ed. “Chocolates? You had chocolates all this time and didn’t tell me?”

Tamaris huffed. “It’s not like you could have any.”

“I would have found some for myself so I could feel more included,” Dorian complained.

Varric chuckled. “We’ll warn you about our snack choices next time.” He picked out a chocolate and held out the box to Tamaris, who rose briefly from the couch to retrieve it.

She sat beside Felassan’s legs once more and offered the box to him, but he merely smiled. “Pick one for me that you think I’ll like.”

She gave him a flat look. “You want me to feed chocolate to you?”

His lips quirked mischievously. “If you’re offering…”

She _tsk_ ed. “You are fucking unbelievable.” She picked out a square-shaped confection enrobed in dark chocolate and brought it to his lips. 

He grinned at her before opening his mouth. Tamaris gave him a chiding look as she placed the chocolate in his mouth, and he chuckled as he chewed it. “Feeding me sandwiches and chocolates? Maybe I’ll never leave this house after all.”

“Wait just a minute,” Dorian said. “Is she actually feeding him the chocolate?”

“Yup,” Varric said.

“Just this once,” Tamaris said defensively. She scowled at Felassan. “You hear that? This is a one-time thing. Don’t get any ideas.”

“If you say so,” he said. “Milk chocolate this time, please.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes and poked around in the box for a milk-chocolate-covered treat, and Dorian sighed loudly. “I think this is my cue to leave. My vomit bucket is getting quite full.”

“Same here,” Varric said ruefully. He rose from the armchair. “Jester, thanks for the history lesson. Really. It’s been…” He sighed. “It’s a lot to think about.”

“It truly is,” Dorian said seriously. “We should meet again soon to discuss the implications for the wolf hunt, don’t you think?”

Felassan shrugged. “As you like. For now, though, you should all keep this to yourselves. Especially you, Dorian. This information is especially volatile in Tevinter hands.”

Dorian’s reply was wry. “I have to agree, unfortunately. Especially given the tenuous situation here.”

Tamaris frowned at them all. “Do none of you think we should make this information public, then?” 

“Knowledge is power, _avise_ ,” Felassan said. “We need to control this information carefully. If Solas discovers how much you now know…” He pulled a little face. “Let’s just say your assumed ignorance is a shield.” 

She pursed her lips. She understood the cold logic of controlling the information for the wolf hunt’s benefit, but keeping information from people who were seeking it would never sit right with her.

Felassan squeezed her thigh. When she looked at him, he nodded his chin at the box of chocolates in her hand. “Give me one of those ones with the orange filling.”

Tamaris scoffed, and Varric rolled his eyes. “All right, I’m getting out of here. Sparkler, take it easy. Jester, Cuddles, have a good one.” 

“Yes, everyone sleep well,” Dorian said. “Farewell for now.” The crystal went dark. 

Tamaris rose from the couch and followed Varric to the stairs. “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

He shook his head as he made his way down the stairs. “I want to write some of this stuff down before I get too tired to think.”

“Don’t write a book about this. Yet,” Felassan called after him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric called back. He and Tamaris made their way to the front door, but Varric paused in the doorway before leaving. 

“You okay with all this?” he said.

She shrugged. “It’s… a lot, as you said.” Her head felt like it was stuffed with too much new information, and she was fairly certain she’d have to ask Felassan to repeat some of what he’d told them so she could really parse through it.

“It sure is,” Varric said. 

He was still eyeing her carefully. She gently flicked his shoulder. “I’m fine, Varric. Seriously. You don’t have to give me that look.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay. Well, that’s… that’s great.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “You expected me to be in a rage, right?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted.

She huffed and folded her arms. “Just wait for it. I’m sure it’ll come.”

“Or maybe it won’t,” he said. He cocked his head and studied her appraisingly. “It’s not so personal for you anymore, is it?”

“What?” she asked.

“Solas,” Varric said. “Him leaving, the deception, any of it.”

Tamaris shrugged and looked down at her bare toes. “Felassan helps,” she said. He’d helped her in so many ways, the least of which was by entrenching himself so thoroughly in her heart that there was barely any room for bitterness.

Varric nodded, and Tamaris leaned against the doorjamb. “Weirdly enough, after hearing all of this, I….” She huffed again and shook her head. “I can almost see where Solas is coming from. _Almost_. If I don’t think about the fact that he’s planning to bring the fucking Veil down on us, at least. I mean, imagine if I’d been caught up in political bullshit like that for thousands of years. Can you imagine how bitter I’d be?”

“I’d rather not,” Varric said. “Too scary.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh. “Fuck you.”

He chuckled and picked a chocolate from the box in her hand, then popped it in his mouth and selected one more for the road. “Have a good one,” he said around his mouthful of chocolate. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Goodnight,” she said. Then she retreated back into the house. 

She made her way back to the library to find Felassan still lounging on the couch with his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were closed and his expression was pleasant and serene, but Tamaris still felt a pang as she sat beside his outstretched legs. 

His smile widened, and he languidly opened his eyes. “Hello.”

She held out a chocolate, and Felassan chuckled. “I had always wondered what it would be like to be waited on hand and foot. I have to say, it’s a pretty delightful experience.”

She scoffed. “You like being waited on hand and foot?”

“I like being waited on by you, because I know you wouldn't do it if you didn’t want to,” he said.

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Do you want the fucking chocolate or not?”

He chuckled and opened his mouth for the chocolate, and Tamaris watched him as he enjoyed it. When he was finished, she held out another one. 

This time, however, Felassan tilted his head instead of accepting the treat. “What’s on your mind?”

“Are you okay?” she said bluntly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She put the box of chocolates on the floor beside the couch. “I told you, you didn’t have to tell us all of that like a factual report.”

The corners of his lips curled. “You feel that my recounting was lacking in emotion?”

“It _was_ lacking in emotion toward the end,” she said.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Next time I’ll be sure to burst into dramatic tears so you know how torn up I am.”

She eyed him warily. He was smiling still, but there was a very faint edge to his voice.

She squeezed his thigh. “You told us a lot about Solas. What he was doing, how he was involved, how shitty it was for him to go through all of that.”

“Telling you about Solas was the point, _avise_ ,” he drawled.

“I want to know what it was like for _you_ to go through all of that,” she retorted.

His eyes found hers, and her heart squeezed at the unguarded surprise in his face. She pushed on. “You lived through the same shitty millenia-spanning war that he did,” she pointed out. “You were helping him to free slaves — you _were_ a fucking slave, for fuck’s sake. You went through all of that just the same as he did.”

“ _I’m_ not the enemy that you need to collect information on,” he said.

“The fucking information isn’t the only thing I care about,” she said impatiently. “I want to know if you’re okay.” After all that he’d told them tonight, she couldn’t believe that he was completely fine. The way he’d spoken about the fall of Arlathan was so… so factual. Even if Arlathan had been something of a rotten fruit by the time Felassan was born, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t felt its loss. If Val Royeaux fell to the darkspawn, for example, Tamaris would be shaken to the core, even though she hated Val Royeaux. 

His gaze softened and saddened. Finally he sighed and tugged her hand. “Lie down with me.”

She stretched out on the couch beside him. He curled his arm around her and traced a lazy pattern on her shoulder with his thumb, and for a time, they simply lay curled together on the couch in silence. 

“I feel… conflicted,” Felassan said eventually.

“Conflicted?”

He nodded. “Telling you that history, everything we endured… It is hard not to think of all the moments where, if something different had happened, then everything else would have been different thereafter like a cascade of events. What if Solas had not brought Ghilan’nain to Mythal’s attention? If Andruil and Ghilan’nain had never met? What if I had read _The Tale of the Champion_ years ago and figured out that Mythal was alive, and brought that information to Solas before he woke from _uthenara_?”

“I’d be dead,” Tamaris said flatly. “Everyone from my time would be.”

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “But that is certainly a possibility.”

She lifted her head from his chest and frowned at him. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that it’s…” He trailed off and gazed at her, and her heart flipped at the tenderness in his face. “Right now, at this moment, I am perfectly happy being exactly where I am,” he said softly. “Do you realize the circumstances that had to conspire to allow for us both to be here at this exact moment?” 

Tamaris tilted her head but didn’t speak, and Felassan’s sad-but-happy smile widened. “If any of what we had suffered had been different, we would not be here now. And I for one think that would be a shame.”

“You’re not longing for the past, then?” she said gently.

He regarded her without speaking for a minute, and when he spoke again, his words were slow and pensive. “I don’t know that I ever did,” he said. “I wanted…” He trailed off with a sigh, then looked Tamaris in the eye once more. “All along, ever since I decided to become Fen’Harel’s spy, what I wanted was the vision that he idolized: a thriving world of beauty and creativity and collaboration. I wanted the visions I had seen through memories in the Vir Dirthara. But I never lived in those times. I wanted something that, for me, never existed.” He slid his hand over her hip. “This exists. _You_ exist. The way you kiss me, like my mouth is the only thing worth paying attention to: this is what’s real. Fen’Harel wants to rebuild a paradise based on the past, but there is no such thing.”

“So you’re not sad about the past?” she asked.

“Of course I am,” he said. “And of course there are things I wish I had done differently – that _we’d_ done differently. But it’s as I said before: regret is a trap. To fall into it is to invite madness, especially for those who live as long as I. There are things I miss about the past, but that doesn’t mean I want it back.” 

She nodded but didn’t reply; instead, she savoured the solid warmth of his body and pondered his words. She often thought about things she could have done differently during the Inquisition, but Felassan was right: regret was a trap that was too easy to fall into. Ruminating on regrets was how Tamaris had ended up plodding out to Kirkwall on her own as a bitter angry mess. 

Ruminating on regrets was how Solas had set his mind to tearing Tamaris’s world apart, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

The thought of Solas brought a pang to her heart – not a pang of longing or love, though. It was a pang of something else: a pang of something she hadn’t felt for Solas since the moment he’d left her side. 

Strange as it might be, she was feeling sorry for him. 

She mulled this over for a moment, then sighed and dismissed the thought for now. There would be plenty of time to think of Solas when they reconvened again to talk about the wolf hunt. 

Instead, she poked Felassan in the belly. “ _I’m_ not the one who kisses like there’s nothing else worth paying attention to.”

He blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“You said…” She swallowed hard, feeling awkward now. “The thing you said about how I kiss you. I’m not… _you’re_ the good kisser, not me.”

He chuckled and stroked her shoulder. “Now you’re being foolish on purpose to provoke me.”

“No,” she said defensively. “I mean, I’m not a bad kisser, but I’m – you’re the one who kisses like there’s… nothing else you’d rather be doing.”

“Am I, now?” he said with a grin. “Because I think _you’re_ the one who gives such delectable kisses.”

“You’re wrong,” she argued. “You’re the good kisser.”

Felassan laughed — that lovely, joyful laugh that she so adored — then slid his hand up to cradle the nape of her neck. “Are you going to argue with me about this, or are you going to show me some of that kissing prowess of yours?”

She scoffed. “I told you, _you’re_ –”

“Tamaris,” he interrupted, “shut up and kiss me.” 

She scowled at him, but her scowl was powerless in the face of his laughter-laced words. She smiled faintly and kissed him as he’d asked — a gentle press of the lips, just enough to enjoy the softness and the shape of his lips beneath her own. 

He tilted his head, and his lips parted slowly to fit together with her own. He pulled delicately at her lower lip, tugging gently with his lips and even more gently with his teeth before coming back to slide his lips over hers, and with every tender press of his mouth and every delicate nip of his teeth, a blissful thrum of desire warmed and bloomed in her blood. 

Felassan’s slow and exquisite kiss continued to spin out with every heartbeat, and as Tamaris enjoyed the tender movement of his mouth, she slowly realized why this kiss was making her feel both dreamy with pleasure and giddy with anticipation. 

Felassan was kissing her as he had the first time on the roof: slowly and thoroughly and firmly, as though this kiss was something he’d long awaited and now was trying desperately to savour. He was kissing her with that same pleasurable focus that spoke of both a luxury of time and an intensity of will to _feel_. But unlike that first kiss on the roof, Tamaris had no qualms. She was no longer buried in her own misguided beliefs about Felassan’s intentions, and she was no longer trapped by her own bitter regret. And when Felassan deepened the kiss, lapping delicately at her lower lip before dipping his tongue into her mouth to dance with the tip of her tongue, she didn’t pull away.

Without breaking their kiss, without leaving the heated seduction of his mouth, she shifted on top of him to straddle his hips and braced her palms on his chest. His hands slid into her hair to stroke her scalp, sending ripples of pleasured goosebumps down her spine, and when his fingers tightened in her hair, she gasped into his lips.

He sealed his mouth over hers more firmly this time and caressed her tongue with his, and Tamaris moaned into his mouth as his fingertips curled against her scalp. A minute later, she was grinding slowly against his lap while he hungrily licked her tongue, and when he abruptly broke the kiss, she gasped with longing at the abandonment of his lips. 

He smiled slowly at her. His eyes were beautiful amethyst gems lit from within with lust. “ _Veraisa,_ ” he whispered. “And you call _me_ the good kisser.”

“You are,” she panted. She pressed her groin to his and tugged the open collar of his unlaced shirt. “Come on, take this off.”

He chuckled and cradled her neck in his palms. “Easy, _avise_. Let me take my time with you.” 

She huffed softly. “Listen to you, talking like you still have all the fucking time in the world.”

He traced her jawline with his thumb. “Any time spent doing this with you is time well spent,” he murmured. He pulled her close once more and brushed his lips teasingly over hers, and as they kissed and breathed and shifted together on the couch in an unhurried dance of desire, Tamaris realized he was right.

No matter what happened in the future, no matter how much — or how little — time they had left, she would never regret the time she spent with Felassan.

She would never regret the time she spent with the man she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References:**  
>  \- A lot of the stuff about Andruil’s involvement with the Blight, and Mythal having to take her down, is extrapolated from [this codex entry from the Arbour Wilds.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Elven_God_Andruil)  
> \- To be clear, the idea that the Old Gods might be the Forgotten Ones is definitely not original to me; I’ve seen it in a couple of places, one of them being [this Corseque post.](https://corseque.tumblr.com/post/132298778632)  
> \- The theory about the nature of Fade vs. dwarven/lyrium-based magic is based on [this incredible meta post,](https://pikaloredump.tumblr.com/post/620456842620010496/the-nature-of-the-veil) which explains the nature of the Veil using physics! YEAH SCIENCE! I haven’t read every reply on this post, but I think this shit is solid as hell, and I love it.  
> \- The theory about the nature of the Blight being a corrupted song influenced by rage is based on a few things: partly the aforementioned post about magic and interference and waveforms, and also a scattering of codex entries about dwarven history through the games that talk about impurity, rage demons, and ‘the gangue’, and how these ideas might be tied up with the Sha-Brytol and the Profane. I first became aware of these ideas via [this post, ](https://bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee.tumblr.com/post/188460190326/profane) and you can find the relevant codex entries [here, ](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_Gangue_Shade) [here ](url) and[here](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Demons_of_the_Stone).  
> \- For anyone who isn’t totally obsessed with Solas: I should have mentioned this chapters ago, but there is a line of Cole’s from Trespasser that has been hugely influential for the entire Solas-loving section of the fandom: “He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.” There’s no actual proof that this is about Solas and Mythal, but it makes a great deal of sense if it is. This line demonstrates why many of us think a) that Solas was a spirit who took the form of an elf, b) that he did it because Mythal asked him to, and c) that he once had Mythal’s vallaslin and removed it, leaving a visible scar on his forehead.  
> \- The theory that Solas used a sort of proto-Veil to hide his slave-freeing activities from the Evanuris is drawn from [this post about symbology in the Elvhen frescoes,](https://wyrdsistersofthedas.tumblr.com/post/617600847604580352/all-frescos-symbols-in-dragon-age-art-part-1) which is interesting in itself.  
> \- There are many other bits and pieces here that are drawn from codex entries, but I’m too tired to list them all. 😅 Let me know in the comments or [on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you have questions about anything that was mentioned here!
> 
> Also, I feel like I should warn you guys… this fic is starting to come toward its end. There are maybe 3 or 4 chapters left. Just FYI... 😭


	26. Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to fluff! Well, 80% fluff and 20% plot/lore.
> 
> Featuring a BEAUTIFUL portrait of Felassan, by the incredible and wonderful [@elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)

The following days were a buzz of activity for Tamaris and Felassan. Gone was the lazy flow of leisurely-executed activities that had previously characterized their time; now, it almost felt to Tamaris like there weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything they wanted to do.

Their morning sparring sessions were becoming longer and more strenuous as Felassan’s grasp of his magic grew. He switching between types of magic now in his attacks, transitioning from fire to lighting to ice to raw Fade strikes while using barriers to repel Tamaris’s blows, and by the time they finished their sparring these days, they were often too fatigued to fuck right afterwards like they’d been doing when his magical control was more modest.

Outside of their sparring sessions, Felassan kept working on his magic by himself. He tinkered with Dorian’s crystals and pored through the few tomes on magic that he’d found in the mansion’s library, as well as a few tomes that Varric had given him from the stock that was salvaged from the Gallows during the Kirkwall Uprising. Dorian was sending a selection of more complex books from Tevinter, and until they arrived, Felassan cheerfully made fun of the Chantry-based books he did have access to, even as he read them. 

While Felassan was working on his magic, Tamaris worked on getting herself back up to speed about current events happening in Thedas and what the other branches of the wolf hunt were doing. They sat together in the study, Felassan working at the desk while Tamaris spread her papers and reports across the couch and floor, and they frequently made snarky comments to each other about what they were reading. Although it wasn’t pleasant to be so busy again, Tamaris had to admit that it was nice to have a constant companion who was working just as hard as she. 

One day, Tamaris looked up from one of Leliana’s coded letters to find Felassan leaning back against the desk with his arms folded and a pensive frown on his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He met her eye. “That piece of ironwood I gave you. Can I have it?”

Her eyes widened. He’d given her his piece of ironwood so long ago now that she’d been half-wondering if he’d forgotten about it. “Of course,” she said, and she stood from the couch. “What are you — are you going to make a staff with it?”

“I’m going to try,” he said.

“That’s great!” she exclaimed. “That’s – I’ll go get it right now.” She ran upstairs to her bedroom and pulled the short length of ironwood out of her dresser. 

It was wrapped in a fine silk scarf Josephine had given her. She carefully unwrapped it, then ran back downstairs and held it out to Felassan.

He smiled faintly as he took it. “Why do I get the impression that you’re more excited about this than I am?”

“It is exciting,” she insisted. “You’re going to… I mean, I don’t really know what you’re going to do, but you’re going to try and make this into a staff! That means you feel pretty confident that you can do it, right?”

“I’m reasonably confident that I won’t blow up the house while trying,” he said wryly.

She frowned. “Come on, Felassan, don’t be so down on yourself. You’ve got so much more control than you did a month ago.” Just this morning, they’d been discussing the possibility that he shouldn’t spar with her anymore out of concern that he might harm her, since his attacks were surpassing the bounds of her barriers to repel him.

“True,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I am close to what I used to be.” He twirled the ironwood in his fingers and gave her a knowing look. “Using magic in this time truly is a matter of control and skill, you know. The feeling of magic being like a second seamless heartbeat really was an artifact of my time. Waking up in this time was like… like having to learn to speak again. Conscious manipulation of a skill I once took for granted.” He gestured at himself. “This relearning is like doing that all over again, but even more difficult since I can’t do what I intend to do.”

“You couldn’t before,” she said emphatically. “Now you can.”

He shrugged. “I can sometimes.”

She frowned more deeply. “Most of the time. You do what you mean to do three-quarters of the time now.”

He smirked. “Have you been keeping a ledger of my progress that I don’t know about?”

“I’m proud of you, okay?” she blurted.

He raised his eyebrows, and she hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’m just… You thought you might not recover anything when you first got here. You’ve come a long way.”

His expression softened with fondness. “I haven’t tried to do anything particularly complex. Certainly nothing as complex as making a staff.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Just try, and if you can’t do it right away, keep trying. You’ll get it.”

His smile widened. “Look at you, being all optimistic. If not for your scowl, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

She scoffed and gently shoved his chest. “Go make your staff, you brat. I’ve got reports to read.” She started back toward the couch, but Felassan grabbed her hand before she could get very far.

He pulled her close and stroked the metal joint of her left wrist. “ _Ise inor vhenan._ Do you know what this means?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “‘Heart of fire’?” she said hesitantly.

“‘Fire in the heart,’ yes,” he said. “It’s an Elvhen term for someone who refuses to give up, even when the odds are stacked against them.” He smiled faintly. “Determination to the point of stubbornness.”

“Uh-huh,” she said flatly. “You’re calling me the stubborn one here, I guess?”

His smile widened. “I’m saying you are the fire in my heart, Tamaris. And I appreciate your stubborn reminders that I am, in fact, getting better.”

Her belly burst into giddy butterflies. _The fire in my heart…_

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a stupid grin from spreading across her face. She gave him a chiding look instead. “Now who’s trying to seduce whom?”

His smile curled with mischief, and he tipped her chin up with a gentle finger. “Not when you have so many fascinating reports to read,” he murmured. He placed a sweet kiss on her lips, and for a blissful moment, she melted helplessly into his kiss.

He leaned away from her with a smile, and Tamaris grinned goofily at him before tottering back to her spot on the couch. Felassan chuckled and returned to his desk, and it was with a light and happy heart that Tamaris returned to her pile of reports.

Their evenings were spent with Varric and Dorian discussing the ways they could use Felassan’s information to benefit the wolf hunt. Tamaris felt that getting in touch with the Grey Wardens’s commanders should be a top priority. “We should be telling them not to kill the last two archdemons, right?” she said one night as they gathered at the dining table with Dorian’s crystal. “They should know the archdemons might be guarding against the Blight, so if anything, the Wardens should be protecting the archdemons from being found by the darkspawn.” Based on the information that Felassan had outlined, they had come to the conclusion that events like the Fifth Blight happened when the darkspawn infected the archdemons, and _not_ that the archdemons were galvanizing the darkspawn into action like everyone seemed to think.

Felassan shrugged. “It probably would be ideal for them to stop attacking the archdemons, yes.”

“But you don’t think they’ll stop,” Varric said.

Felassan smiled faintly. “I think they have several centuries’ worth of evidence that killing archdemons coincides with the end of a Blight event, and no reason to accept the hypothesis of a random elf.”

“Well, we still have to try,” Tamaris retorted.

“I am not saying not to try,” Felassan said. “But I also think it might be worth launching our own independent ventures to find the archdemons.”

Varric grimaced. “That’s a pretty ambitious undertaking, Jester.”

“True,” Felassan said casually. “You could also speak to individual lower-ranking Wardens rather than approaching their commanders.”

Dorian’s voice floated up from the crystal. “Why shouldn’t we try and approach the Warden-Commanders?”

“People in charge are usually disinclined to listen to strange ideas,” Felassan said. “They’re considerably more skeptical than the average person. The more experience they have, the more convinced in their rightness — and the more closed-off — they tend to be.”

Varric chuckled. “Not a fan of authority figures, are you?”

Felassan widened his eyes. “I respect authority figures deeply. That doesn’t mean I listen to them or follow what they say.”

Tamaris snorted with amusement. Felassan smiled at her, then casually waved his hand. “Anyway, we should start looking for stray lower-ranking Wardens. Not only might they be more open-minded, but they could lead us to Weisshaupt, if that’s still where you think the Wardens are gathering.”

Varric scribbled a memo in his notebook. “All right. More efforts to find the Wardens. Any other thoughts?”

Dorian spoke up. “I was thinking about the fact that Solas has so much knowledge at his disposal now, with those two other souls piggybacking on his body. It certainly puts us at a disadvantage, but he’s not the only person we know whose head is stuffed with ancient knowledge.”

Tamaris nodded ruefully; she’d been thinking the same thing. “You mean Morrigan.”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “We should try and get her assistance. There must be information from the Well of Sorrows that can benefit us.”

She ran her hand slowly through her hair. When Dorian spoke again, his voice was gentle, as though he could see her reluctance. “I know you wanted to let her raise Kieran in peace, but if Solas drops the Veil, there will be nowhere safe left for them to live. Or any of us, for that matter.”

“No, I know. You’re right.” Tamaris sighed and lowered her hand. “How should we even go about trying to find her? She doesn’t care about keeping in touch with anyone.”

Varric tapped his quill idly on his notebook. “The Hero of Ferelden would be a good bet. Nightingale said she and Morrigan were close back in the day.”

Tamaris frowned. “That was over ten years ago. And isn’t Mahariel already going off to spy on the qunari?”

“She’d have time to send a letter,” Varric said reasonably. 

“I guess,” Tamaris said, somewhat reluctantly. She still felt guilty about the Hero of Ferelden doing so many tasks for the wolf hunt after everything she’d already done for Ferelden, but no one seemed to have any choice about getting pulled into all of this. 

“Okay,” Varric said as he took another note. “Get the hero to write to the swamp witch.” He looked up at Felassan and Tamaris. “Any other ideas?”

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about, actually,” Tamaris said. She gave Felassan a critical look. “The Well of Sorrows. The fact that it even existed and that Mythal had warriors who were bound to her will. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”

He pulled a little face. “It’s not a fate I would ever choose, that’s for certain.”

“So why did she make anyone choose it?” Tamaris demanded. “Why make anyone be bound to her will?”

“Remember that the Sentinel order arose around the time that the Evanuris were all starting to war with each other,” Felassan said. “In retrospect, I wonder if the rising of the Sentinels might have been the first sign that Mythal was worried she would be betrayed. An order of warriors who are bound to your will means they can’t betray you, not even if you die. Allegedly die, that is,” he added.

Tamaris folded her arms. In her opinion, that was no excuse. “What did Solas think of the Sentinels when Mythal started recruiting them?” she asked.

Felassan grimaced again. “He was… conflicted,” he said slowly. “On the one hand, Abelas and the others were willingly giving themselves into Mythal’s will, so technically they were submitting to her by choice. But by submitting to her, they were effectively making themselves her slaves.” Felassan twisted his lips ruefully. “It certainly kept him up at night, even if he didn’t speak against her outright.”

Tamaris relaxed slightly at this. “It didn’t seem to sit right with him when _we_ were there, either.” 

Felassan nodded and gave her an appraising look. “You never considered drinking from the Well, did you?”

“I mean, sure, I considered it for a second,” she said. “Until Solas refused point-blank to drink from it. If he was saying no, then I sure as fuck wasn’t going to do it.”

Felassan snorted a laugh. “Wise of you to follow his example. It would be a very different Tamaris sitting before us now if you had drunk from the Vir’Abelasan.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting here at all, if Solas really is hosting Mythal.”

Tamaris frowned, but Dorian filled in his unspoken thoughts. “ _Fasta vass._ You think he would have taken control of Tamaris via Mythal?”

Tamaris’s guts went cold at the thought, and Felassan’s answer only discomfited her more. “It’s possible,” he said.

“So that means Morrigan could be in trouble now, then,” Tamaris said tensely. “And Kieran too.”

“Also possible,” Felassan said.

“Shit. Fuck.” She ran her hands through her hair, then gestured at Varric’s notebook. “Write that down. Trying to find her should be a priority.”

“Fen’Harel won’t kill them, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Felassan said. 

Varric gave him a skeptical look. “If he’s willing to bring the Veil down on us, he’s probably not too concerned about killing one woman and her kid.”

“It’s not like that,” Tamaris said. “Solas doesn’t want to kill more people than he has to.” 

Varric looked at her in surprise, and Dorian sounded surprised as well when he replied. “That almost sounded like you’re defending him.”

“She’s not defending him,” Felassan said. “She’s just explaining him.”

She looked up to find Felassan smiling at her. But instead of smiling back, she frowned. “Can _you_ explain something to me? Why did he trust her?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Who, Morrigan?”

She gave him a chiding look. “No. Mythal. She was so fucking shady. The dwarf stuff, the Well of Sorrows stuff, hiding her dragon without telling him so he thought she was dead, not to mention how smug and bitchy she was when I met her, and all the shitty things Morrigan said about being raised by her. How could Solas have trusted her?”

His smile began to melt into that look of anachronistic melancholy that made Tamaris’s heart twist. “I don’t know if it is possible to explain the strength of the ties that exist between them,” he said quietly. “Can any of us even imagine the depth of love that could develop between two beings who have known each other for several thousand years? Solas knew Mythal since he was barely more than a wisp. She was one of the main sources of pride that fed and fostered him before he became an elf. She shaped him in ways that none of us can fully understand. Even if he later realized that some of her proudest achievements were terrible mistakes, the depth of his devotion to her would have made him incapable of seeing her as truly flawed.”

Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “Love is blind, hm?”

Varric grunted. “It’s a literary cliché for a reason.”

“It really is,” Felassan said. His tone was jocular, but his smile was wry and sad.

Tamaris reached over and squeezed his thigh. Then Varric snapped his fingers. “Hey, that reminds me. I was thinking about the whole Mythal-hiding-her-dragon thing the other day, and I thought, uh… well, what if Mythal’s dragon really is dead?”

Felassan straightened in his chair. “Interesting. Then how do you propose that she survived?”

Varric put his quill down. “Well, Hawke had this amulet that Flemeth told her to take to the Dalish. She took it to our friend Merrill’s clan, and Merrill did some kind of ritual, and Flemeth popped out of the amulet like… like, uh…”

“Like magic?” Dorian suggested wryly.

Varric laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Obviously.”

Dorian chuckled, but to Tamaris’s surprise, Felassan just stared at Varric without laughing.

“Felassan, what’s wrong?” she asked.

He continued to stare at Varric. “Why didn’t you mention this the other day when I was talking about the dragons?”

Varric shrugged. “I didn’t think of it then.”

“I wish you had,” Felassan said. “That changes everything. If Mythal’s dragon truly was killed, but she had another piece of her life essence stored in an amulet…” He trailed off, then snorted a sudden little laugh. “Amulets are far easier to hide than dragons, you know.”

Varric shrugged and picked up his quill. “I mean, I could be wrong. You can read _The Tale of the Champion_ yourself and see what you think.”

“You should read it, actually,” Tamaris piped in. “There’s more detail in there about Merrill and her eluvian, too.” She turned to Varric. “It’s the same eluvian that gave the Hero of Ferelden the blight, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what Daisy said,” Varric replied.

Felassan looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, an eluvian gave the Hero of Ferelden the blight?” he said sharply.

Varric tilted his head in an equivocal gesture. “Well, maybe it didn’t directly give Mahariel the blight, especially if only living stuff can have the blight. But it was definitely involved, from what Daisy told us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, eluvians aren’t alive, are they?”

“No, they’re… they’re not alive,” Felassan said numbly. He kept staring at Varric in a stunned sort of way that made Tamaris nervous.

She tapped his thigh. “Felassan, are you–?”

He suddenly burst out laughing — a distinctly hysterical-sounding laugh. Tamaris shifted closer to him and held out her hand, and he grabbed it as he dragged in a breath. 

She squeezed his fingers. “Just breathe,” she said soothingly.

He nodded, then burst out another uncontrolled laugh. “Just when I think I have a grasp on this time, I realize something enormously significant that I missed,” he wheezed.

“What do you think you missed?” Dorian asked.

Felassan giggled before dragging in another calming breath. “An eluvian that’s steeped somehow in the blight makes me think there is a specific place that it was keyed to access. A place that was so catastrophically affected by the blight that the eluvians connected to it might be growing red lyrium.”

Tamaris’s eyes widened. “Arlathan?” she breathed.

Felassan nodded and chuckled, and Tamaris sighed. “Fuck. So we should try and get Merrill somewhere safe too, then.”

Varric sighed. “I hate to tell you this, but I haven’t heard from Daisy in a while.”

Tamaris’s stomach went cold once more. “You think she’s working with Solas?”

Varric twisted his lips sadly. “She’d have good reason to, if he sweet-talked her with stories about the ancient elves.”

Felassan sighed. “That’s good.”

Tamaris frowned at him, affronted. “It’s good? What do you mean, it’s good? One more ally for Solas means one less for us!”

Felassan gave her a chiding look. “It would also mean that an eluvian leading straight to the Black City is under Solas’s control and not, for example, Tevinter’s. Neither is… ideal, but having that eluvian in Tevinter hands is probably worse.” He cocked his head. “Probably.”

“That hurts my feelings slightly,” Dorian said.

Felassan chuckled, then sighed and rubbed his forehead, and Tamaris studied him with a pang of sympathy. He looked so tired. 

She squeezed his hand once more. He gave her a little smile, then squeezed her hand in turn before kicking his feet up on the table. “In any case, I know what’s next on my reading list.” He shot Varric a smirk. “Maybe you should just give me an annotated bibliography of your work so I can catch up on everything I need to know about the last twenty years.”

Varric huffed in amusement. “I guess I could get you a copy of all my works. I am just a humble servant to my loyal readers, after all.”

Felassan smiled at him. “A sweet sentiment. That reminds me, how is your most loyal reader?”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Cassandra’s fine. Yes, I wrote her a smut scene. And no, you can’t read it.”

Dorian burst out laughing while Felassan complained playfully about not being allowed to read Varric’s smut, and Tamaris listened to the three of them faux-bickering with a bittersweet feeling in her chest. 

Later that evening, long after Dorian ended the call and Varric had gone home, Tamaris trudged gloomily back to the study to read some more reports. A minute later, Felassan sidled into the study as well.

He pushed some of her papers aside to sit down beside her, and Tamaris poked him in the arm. “Hey, don’t touch my mess. I have a system.”

He draped his arm over the back of the couch. “You’re not really going to continue working now, are you?”

She scratched her ear. “Well, I — there was one last report I was in the middle of reading, so I just want to finish it.”

“Finish it tomorrow,” he said. 

She gave him a chiding look. “You’re being a brat.”

“And you’re working far too hard for someone who doesn’t actually have anything to do.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to rub it in? I feel guilty enough already.”

He tilted his head. “You feel guilty staying in this house with me while my magic is too uncontrolled to travel?”

Her eyes widened in dismay. “Wha– no, that’s not what I mean at all!”

“Then why bother feeling guilty?” he asked.

She gazed at him in exasperation. “It’s — I can’t just turn it off, okay? Everyone else is working hard, including you. I need to do _something._ ”

He shrugged. “You can help me with making my staff.”

Her irritation melted into surprise. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “You have full control of your magic. It will form a stabilizing influence to help me channel mine into the ironwood.”

She smiled at the thought of helping Felassan with something magical, then wilted slightly. “Are you sure you don’t want Dorian’s help instead? His mana reserves are way stronger than mine.”

Felassan smirked. “Jealous, are you?”

“No, for once,” she said snarkily. “Just being practical.”

His smile widened. “So you admit that you are jealous of my friendship with Dorian.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up her half-read report. “Fuck off and let me read my report, will you?”

He chuckled and plucked the papers from her hand. “To answer your question, no. I don’t want his help. Even if he could help via the sending crystal, which he can’t, I would still be asking for your help instead.”

“And why’s that?” she grumbled.

“Because I’ll enjoy feeling the hum of your magic in my fingers when I use the staff,” he replied.

She looked at him with fresh curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll leave a magical signature in the wood if you help me make my staff,” he explained. “It will be an enjoyable feeling when I’m blowing apart our enemies.” 

“Oh,” she said dumbly. His tone was casual, but she couldn’t help but feel oddly flattered that he would want to feel her magical signature during a fight. 

She shyly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, um. Sure, I’d be happy to help.”

“Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll let you know when I need your hands.”

She blinked in confusion. “Oh, you – you don’t want to do this now?”

“Oh, no,” he said casually. “My experimentation today proved that I need more time to practice the spells for imbuing our signatures into the wood, not to mention tailoring it to the size-modulating spell I’ll be putting on the staff.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Besides, we’re not working anymore tonight.” 

“We’re not, huh?” she said wryly.

“No,” Felassan said. “We’re going to do something fun.”

His tone and the curl of his lips were mischievous, and Tamaris smirked. “Like what?” she said drolly.

His answer surprised her, though. “Like painting the walls.” 

She wilted. “You want to start painting the walls? Now?” She eyed the plain washed walls of the study with some resignation.

“Not those walls, and not that kind of paint,” he said. “Come.” He stood up and held out his hand.

Tamaris sighed and allowed him to pull her up from the couch. He led her to the foyer and jerked his thumb at the east-facing wall of the foyer, which they’d painted a deep peacock blue. “This bores me,” he said. “I think we should paint a mural.”

She balked slightly. “A mural?” Her mind instantly went to the murals Solas had painted on the walls of the rotunda: those huge, floor-to-ceiling works that he’d painted during the year he’d spent by her side — beautiful masterpieces that she’d once considered as tributes to his love for her, but which had later been too painful for her to look at, leading her to avoid the rotunda altogether. 

Felassan, as usual, picked up on her thoughts. He gave her a knowing look. “Not a mural like Fen’Harel’s. Something much simpler and much less planned.” 

Tamaris gave him a cautious look. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing in particular, really,” he said. He looked at the wall and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I usually just start painting and see where my hands take me.”

She gazed at him with growing confusion. “W-wait. You… do you know how to paint?”

He shrugged. “I have been known to paint sometimes.”

She gaped at him. “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I didn’t want to be made fun of for having yet another hobby.”

She gently punched his arm. “Don’t be stupid! I would never make fun of you for being an artist! Would I have seen anything you painted? In the Vir Dirthara or any ancient temples or anything?” Her eyes widened. “Or — or even at Skyhold?”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “You flatter me by suggesting anything I paint would be worthy of such illustrious locations.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “That's not an answer.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. And you might have seen some of my work, though it would be hard to tell it apart from the work of others.”

“What do you mean?”

He let out a little huff of laughter and rubbed his mouth, as though he was thinking of a private joke. “Did you ever see quick, messy paintings of elven warriors going to battle on halla?”

“Yes, in many places,” she said. She paused, then double-taked at him. “Wait, those were by you?”

“Not just me,” Felassan said. “Fen’Harel’s rebels had a tendency to leave our mark in the places where we foiled our foes.”

Tamaris stared at him, then smiled. “You vandalized the Evanuris’s property while you were freeing their slaves?”

Felassan grinned. “I like to think we improved their decor, much like you and I are doing in this house. Now let’s see how we can improve this wall, why don’t we?” He started opening the pails of paint, then glanced up at Tamaris. “Can you bring some bowls so we can mix the colours?”

“Sure,” she said. She hurried to the kitchen and came back a minute later to find that Felassan had already laid some dropcloths on the floor along the base of the wall.

He gestured to the floor. “Set them here. You don’t mind ruining those bowls with paint, do you?”

“I don’t give a single fuck about these bowls,” she said.

He snickered. “I figured as much.” He poured together some red and yellow paint to make a deep orange shade, then looked up at her as he stirred the paint. “What colours are you in the mood for?”

She blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said drolly. “What colours do you want to start with?”

She recoiled. “What? No. I’m not — I’ll just watch.”

He paused in his stirring. “That won’t do. You have to paint.”

She laughed at his bossy tone. “No I don’t. I’ll just watch.” She sat on the carpet and wrapped her arms around her knees, perfectly willing to watch Felassan the way she used to watch Solas during the long nights when he painted his murals.

Felassan gave her a chiding look, then gestured for her to come closer. “Come, _avise_. Paint with me. You’ll like it.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t know how to paint.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think I knew how to paint before I started vandalizing the Evanuris’s walls?”

“I thought you were ‘improving their decor’, not vandalizing,” Tamaris retorted.

He grinned. “Silly me. Of course that’s what we were doing. Now come, I need your help to improve this wall. What colours do you want to add?”

She gave him a knowing look. “If I touch that wall, I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Anything you do will be an improvement over the wallpaper that was here before,” he said.

She snorted a laugh. “You know what, that’s true.”

He raised his eyebrows hopefully, and Tamaris finally gave in with a sigh. “Fine. How about…” She paused and gazed idly into his expectant violet eyes.

“Purple,” she said. “Mix me up some purple paint.” 

“Purple it is,” he said. He mixed together some red and blue paint and added some white to lighten the shade, then held out the bowl.

She stood up and took the bowl. “I need a brush.”

“Use your fingers,” he said.

She recoiled slightly. This would make an enormous mess if she painted with her hands. “Are you serious?”

“I never joke about vandalism,” he said. “I take it very seriously.”

He was grinning. His eyes were dancing with mischief and he looked so carefree and young, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile in response to his joy. 

She blew out a breath. “All right, but if it looks really bad, we’re painting over it.” She dipped her fingers in the thick paint, then smeared some of it on the wall. 

She immediately regretted what she’d done. The paint began to run in slow drips, and Tamaris was forced to catch it with her fingers and smear it even more. Exasperated, she started rubbing the paint haphazardly onto the wall until it was a blobby patch of purple.

She threw Felassan an _I-told-you-so_ look. “See? It looks like shit.”

He shook his head. “Keep going,” he said. He was still smiling, and Tamaris gazed at him with rising annoyance.

“Keep going with what?” she demanded. “It’s an ugly smudge.”

“You had something in mind when you started painting,” he said. “Keep going with it.” He picked up the bowl of orange paint, then padded over to the other end of the wall and began dashing the paint onto the wall in quick practiced strokes that clearly told her he’d done this a thousand times.

She sighed, then dipped her fingers in the paint again and kept slapping it haphazardly onto the wall in a series of vaguely rounded irregularly-sized blobs. A few minutes later, she set the bowl down and wiped her hand on the dropcloth before looking over at what Felassan was doing. 

Her eyebrows jumped up. Felassan was painting a series of what looked like stylized orange teardrops that varied in size and shape, but the shifting shades of orange and red and yellow were clearly meant to signify fire. 

She narrowed her eyes. The shifting colours in his painted flamedrops represented such a subtle blend. How was he managing to make the colours meld so seamlessly? He was holding the bowl of orange paint, but the buckets of yellow and red were sitting on the floor a good two metres away from him. 

She stepped away from the wall, and Felassan looked over at her. His gaze darted to the wall, and he smiled. “Clouds,” he said.

She grunted and rolled her eyes. “Really original, I know.”

He gave her a chiding look. “A wise woman once said you shouldn’t be so down on yourself.” He approached her end of the wall and examined her purple smudgy clouds for a second, then dipped his fingers into his bowl of orange paint and added a dash of orange to the underside of each cloud.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. The orange underline gave the impression that each blobby cloud was lit from below by the setting sun. It was exactly what she’d been thinking of when she started to paint: sitting on the roof with Felassan while the fading light of day lit the clouds aglow from beneath.

She looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows. “Better? Worse?” He smiled faintly. “Did I ruin your artistic vision?” 

She swallowed hard, feeling oddly emotional by his addition. She shook her head. “You un-ruined it,” she said gruffly. 

His smile widened. “Oh good. I’d always dearly hoped to un-ruin something during the course of my life.” 

She scoffed, then nodded her chin at his drops of flame. “What are you doing over there?”

“Sketching,” he said. “Working out an idea.” He nodded at her clouds. “Keep going. Or paint something else.”

She nodded, but as Felassan returned to his side of the wall with his bowl of orange paint, she couldn’t help but watch him instead. He continued painting drops of flame on the wall, then eventually put the orange paint aside and picked up the bucket of green paint instead. He set the bucket on the floor by his feet and started scrawling green shapes on the wall that looked like stylized leaves, and Tamaris was once again awed — and bemused — by how seamlessly he seemed to be blending the orange of the flames into the green of the leaves. 

She watched him with unabashed interest, her own painting endeavours forgotten in favour of watching Felassan instead. He eventually paused and smiled at her. “If you’re going to stare, this really is your chance to paint a picture. The paints are open and everything.” 

She smiled at his cheeky remark. “I’d honestly rather watch,” she said. “I want to see what you come up with.”

He gave her a reproving look, and she waved dismissively. “I mean it. I’ll have more fun watching you than I will with actually painting.”

He frowned at her for a moment longer, then finally shrugged. “All right, but you’re going to start off the next mural. I insist on it.”

She wilted slightly. “The next one?”

He nodded. “We need to cover every wall of this house with filthy knife-ear art.”

Tamaris burst out a laugh. “That would be pretty good revenge for how aggressively Orlesian this house was before we got here.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” he said complacently. “I have always enjoyed exacting petty revenge through the use of paint.”

She beamed at him. “You really are a vandal, you know that?”

He bowed politely to her. “Thank you, Tamaris. That warms my heart.”

She chuckled and settled on the carpet once more. She hadn’t been self-deprecating when she’d told Felassan she wanted to watch him instead of doing the painting. She’d always enjoyed watching artists working on their craft — and one of the artists she’d most enjoyed watching, unfortunately, was Solas.

She’d never seen an artist who worked the way Solas did. Watching him transform the rotunda walls from raw rock to smooth plaster to charcoal sketches and finally to fully-rendered murals had been, in her eyes, its own form of magic. Solas’s careful stepwise method had also been something to marvel at; he always started with a lovingly-crafted small-scale sketch of each design before translating the sketch to the walls in perfect proportion, and the actual painting of the mural was an all-night process that exemplified his focus and methodical devotion to the art. During those all-night painting sessions, Solas was intent and focused and almost completely silent, and Tamaris couldn’t remember a single time when he’d faltered or made a mistake in the execution of his spectacular works.

Watching Felassan paint, on the other hand... truly, it was nothing like watching Solas. Felassan hadn’t planned a thing, opting instead to experiment directly on the walls with his fingers instead of the sorts of fine brushes that Solas used to use. His movements were loose and relaxed and lacking in precision, and he kept jumping between the different elements of the scene he was creating: adding a bunch of those green leaf shapes, then adding some more flames, then swiping a streak of gold in a bold vertical arch through the cluster of flames before starting to add some violet clouds to his end of the mural. He hummed to himself as he worked and made little playful comments to her over his shoulder, and when the occasional drop of paint rolled slowly down the wall from his quick and messy application, he simply blended it back into the wall or painted over it with a new leaf or flame. 

She stared shamelessly at Felassan’s emerging work. His application method appeared slapdash and careless, but the effect was anything but; his work was striking and bold, and to Tamaris’s eye, very appealing. The lines varied from dark saturated lines to graceful faded streaks, giving his mural a dynamic and energetic feel that was more emotion than story, and Tamaris felt energized in turn as she watched him moving from one end of the wall to the other and back. 

The longer he worked, the less he spoke and the more focused he seemed to become, even as his movements remained loose and flowing. He looked incredibly graceful as he moved across the wall, and he was using both hands now to paint, and–

_Wait. Both hands?_ she thought. And with a jolt, she realized that Felassan was no longer holding a bowl of paint in his hand. Even so, the colours continued to flow from his fingers as though he had dipped his fingers into the paint. But how…? 

She narrowed her eyes and watched him more carefully. And eventually, with a rising of wonder, she realized what he was doing. He kept gesturing in the direction of the paints and twisting his wrists as though he was dipping his hands into the paints, and the amount of paint in the buckets and the bowls was actually decreasing in accordance with the movements of his hands. 

_It’s magic,_ she thought in amazement. _He’s using magic to pull the paint to his hands and to blend the colours._ Her heart was pounding now with excitement at his exquisitely controlled magical feat, but she continued to watch him in silence, unwilling to disturb his flow by commenting on what he was doing. 

He flicked his wrist at the bucket of gold paint, then dragged his fingers in a long horizontal line from the center of the vertical arch and back toward Tamaris’s end of the wall, and Tamaris finally recognized the shape that dominated most of the mural: a stylized bow and arrow, with a background of flames toward the front of the bow that blended into leaves toward the end. Enthralled by his design and by the magical way he was executing it, she wrapped her arms loosely around her knees and continued to watch as he added a silvery-white bowstring, then a purple-silvery arrowhead and purple-and-red fletching to the arrow. 

He stood back briefly to study the design before going over the golden bow and arrow again with a smattering of brown, making the bow and arrow look like a combination of wood and gold.  
He paused again and idly scratched the back of his neck, and Tamaris watched with a swelling of affection as he smeared some paint on his neck. 

He turned to face her then. “Look at me?” he said.

She lifted her eyes to his face, and her breath stalled in her chest; his beautiful amethyst eyes were bright with focus. He studied her face intently for a long second, then nodded and turned back to the wall. He flicked his wrist at the paints, then started painting over the leaves again with a slightly lighter shade of green that blended into a darker green at the edges. 

When he finished re-painting the leaves, he stood back once more and folded his arms as he surveyed his work, and Tamaris stared shamelessly at his handsome profile as he studied the wall. He carelessly flicked his wrist at the paint buckets, then flicked his fingers at the wall, and Tamaris watched as a fine blend of white and bright blue droplets appeared in misty-looking streaks near the upper edge of the bow — a fine blend that would have required painstaking care to paint by hand, but which Felassan’s magic had rendered quick and doable. His magic, which he was clearly gaining better control over with every passing day… 

Her heart throbbed again with an undeniable surge of pride. Felassan continued to flick streaks and curls of fine blue-and-white droplets across the mural, and Tamaris eventually realized that the streaks and curls looked like smoke, which made sense given the omnipresent stylized fire that dominated much of the right-hand side of the mural. 

He stepped away from the wall one more time to examine his work, then finally nodded in satisfaction. He turned to face her with a smile. “So? What do you think?”

“I love it. It’s beautiful,” she said. Then she immediately regretted her inane compliment. It sounded so paltry compared to the way her heart was pounding in her chest, as though it wanted to escape the confines of her ribcage and leap into his open hands.

He sat beside her with a satisfied sigh. “I’m glad you like it. It’s us, after all.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

He gestured at the wall. “It’s us. A slow arrow dancing with flames. And a little bit of deep mushroom smoke, of course.” He smirked, then gently lifted her chin and studied her face. “I’m not convinced that I captured the shade of your eyes right, though.”

“My eyes?” she said stupidly.

“Yes, your eyes,” he said vaguely. He was still carefully examining her face. “Those green shapes on the left half of the wall.”

_Those are my eyes?_ she thought. The green shapes he’d painted, then painstakingly repainted a second time to adjust their shade: those were meant to represent her eyes? 

He chuckled and lowered his hand. “Tell me the truth. You thought they were leaves, didn’t you?”

She stared wordlessly at him, overwhelmed by the perfection of this moment — the perfection of _him_. Her body was still buzzing with energy from watching him paint, and her heart was humming besottedly from the careful way he’d inspected the verdancy of her eyes. The memory of his loose and joyful movements danced across her mind as surely as his paint-slathered hands had danced across the wall, and gods, the laughter in his voice and in his smile… 

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was shocked he couldn’t hear it. She swallowed hard and gazed at the mural once more — this mural that was _them_ , that was her and Felassan together: a slow arrow dancing in flames, splashed boldly across the wall of this house for everyone to see. As Tamaris studied the bold jewel tones of the freshly-painted wall, it dawned on her that she had never seen any mural more beautiful than the one Felassan had just rendered with his magic and his own two hands. 

Tamaris tore her gaze away from the mural and met his bright violet eyes. “I love you,” she said.

A slow and brilliant smile lit his entire face, like a bursting of joy that rendered him even more painfully handsome than he already was. Tamaris stared gormlessly at him, her throat thickening with emotion as she took in the tenderness in his face. 

He cradled her neck in his palm. “I know, Tamaris,” he murmured.

Her heart squeezed with nerves. She swallowed hard, then smacked his chest. “You know? What do you mean, you know?”

His smile grew wider and softer at once. “I know you love me. I don’t need to hear you say it.”

Feeling slightly stung, she scoffed and tried to push him away. “You’re so fucking smug.”

He pulled her easily into his lap. “I don’t need to hear you say it, but I have been waiting for you to say it first.”

“Why?” she complained. “Why did _I_ have to say it first?”

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated to say it back if _I_ said it first,” he replied.

She darted him a cautious look. If he said it first? So that meant — did that mean…?

She cleared her throat and rubbed at the dent on her metal arm. “So… say it back, meaning…?”

He chuckled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It means that I love you too, _felasil’ain_. But I think you already knew that.” 

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she gazed silently into his glittering amethyst eyes. As usual, Felassan was right. He’d been right when he said that empty words couldn’t wipe her bitterness away. And now, in this moment, he was right when he said that mere words of love weren’t necessary. Just because he’d never said he loved her didn’t mean she didn’t _know_ — and if she dug beneath the surface of her own stubborn insecurity, she could openly admit that she’d known all along.

She knew Felassan loved her; of course she knew, because it was infused into his every act. He made foods that he knew she would like and concocted herbal remedies for her withdrawal and her pain. He offered her massages and pulled her out of her terrible moods with his terrible jokes. He kissed her like there was nothing else he would rather do, and he fucked her like he was trying to wring every last shiver of pleasure from her body, and he was patient — almost unfathomably patient. He listened while she talked about Solas, and he’d tolerated the torture of their heated trysts until she was ready to have sex again, and he’d waited quietly while she held back the words of love that seemed to consume her more with every passing day.

No longer would she be consumed by those words. No longer would she be held hostage by them — especially not when his feelings for her were so patently obvious. 

She straddled him and cradled his paint-stained neck in her palms. “I love you,” she said huskily. “I — you’re right, okay? I wanted to say it for weeks but I felt — I don’t know, shy or something. I was being stupid.”

He squeezed her waist soothingly. “You were not being stupid. And there’s no need to explain. I told you, I don’t need you to say it.”

“Well, _I_ need to say it,” she retorted. “And you deserve to hear it, okay? I fucking love you.”

He grinned at her, then broke into laughter. “How is it possible for someone to be affectionate and rude at once?”

She _tsk_ ed and smacked his chest. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she kissed him. 

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her tongue with his, and Tamaris happily capitulated to the heat of his kiss. When he broke away from her lips to laugh, she was helpless to do anything but laugh in turn.

They sat twined together on the floor, kissing and laughing and making fun of each other in husky murmured voices, and Tamaris basked shamelessly in the ample evidence of Felassan’s love. His lips pulled gently at hers and his hands moved carefully over her body, and there on the wall, looming benevolently over them in bright and brilliant strokes of colour, was the most visible sign of his love: a mural rendered by Felassan’s bare hands — a mural showing his slow arrow dancing fearlessly and boldly through the fire of her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases, constructed from FenxShiral's resources:
> 
> \- _Ise inor vhenan_ : Fire in the heart. A metaphor for someone who is determined to the point of stubbornness.  
> \- _Felasil’ain_ : adorable idiot. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr:](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) a humble servant to my loyal readers. xo


	27. Ar Lasa Mala Revas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% pure fluff and smut. Tiny kink warning: _very_ light bondage, of a sort. 😏 And mild dom!Felassan again, that sly dog.
> 
> Also, @elbenherzart snuck up on me with GIFT ART OF THE BABES and I'm totally not crying. I'm totally fine. 😭❤️❤️❤️

A few days later, when the sky was a curtain of deep midnight blue studded with stars, Tamaris sat on the roof curled into Felassan’s shoulder, watching as the smoke of their shared joint drifted from his mouth in delicate wisps and curls.

He offered her the joint, and she took it and brought it to her lips. “What do you think we should do when we finally leave this house?” she asked.

He leaned back casually on one hand. “It depends on what’s happening in the world by the time we are ready to leave. Who knows? Maybe the qunari will start moving south by then. Or maybe Tevinter will succeed at pushing the qunari back.” He smiled cheekily. “Maybe someone will assassinate the Emperor of Orlais in a sudden coup d’état.”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow and blew out a stream of smoke. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to set up for such a coup.”

“Would that I had the resources to set up something so devious,” he said. “But that would probably plunge your world into even more chaos, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Thank you for that very wise spy advice,” she said wryly.

He nodded politely. “You’re very welcome.”

She smirked and took another drag from the joint, then blew out a little cloud of smoke and held out the joint. “Seriously though. Isn’t there anything you _want_ to do? Barring the stuff that we might have to do. Isn't there anywhere you’d like to travel to?”

He took the joint. “It would be interesting to visit the Arbour Wilds — to see the Temple of Mythal again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s no one there anymore.”

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s perfect for scavenging. There might be clues as to where Mythal’s dragon or her amulet are being kept, or whether her dragon is even alive anymore. It is possible that the Well of Sorrows was not the only sacred treasure they were guarding.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Oh shit. That’s true. Okay, we should go there.”

“We could,” Felassan said. “Or we could go somewhere else.”

She gave him a chiding look, and he smiled unconcernedly and handed her the joint. “Where do _you_ want to go, _avise_? Which direction would we strike out in if you were given the choice?”

She sighed and gazed idly at the smouldering tip of the joint. “I… ah, I’ve been thinking for a while that I should go see my clan. Those who aren’t in Wycome still, I mean.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re a short ways from Starkhaven right now,” she said. “It’s not that far from Kirkwall, so I don’t really have an excuse.”

He cocked his head. “You were avoiding them?”

She hesitated. She genuinely hadn’t had time to go see her clan after the explosion at the Conclave, and things had only gotten busier from a political and peacekeeping standpoint after Corypheus was dead. 

But if Tamaris was honest, it was more than just Inquisition business that had stopped her from visiting her clan. And there was a reason she had volunteered to spy on the Conclave in the first place, all those years ago.

She brought the joint to her lips. “I was avoiding them, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I was…” She sighed, then gave Felassan a hard look. “I love my clan, all right? I love them, and I think they’re great. But Dalish clans grow up knowing every bit of each other’s business. We’re very close, and it’s very hard to keep secrets. It’s part of what makes us such a tight community — the entire clan is really just one big family. There are no strangers in a clan, only family.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But it also makes it difficult to… to forget when something bad happens to someone.”

He tilted his head. “You were constantly reminded of Marin.”

“Yes,” she said. “And – look, it’s not that I want to forget him. I – I’ll never forget him. He’s been dead for years and I still think of him almost every day. But it’s one thing to think of him randomly because something reminds me of him, and it’s another thing to think of him because he’s all anyone ever sees when they look at me. When he’s all I ever thought about when I looked at my parents.” She exhaled hard and rubbed her forehead. “The Inquisition was a pain in the ass a lot of the time, but I was able to… I wasn’t ‘poor Marin’s sister’ anymore, and that was… gods, I feel like an asshole saying it, but it was a relief.”

“You had a chance to start over,” Felassan said.

She looked at him. His tone was neutral but his eyes were warm, and her shoulders loosened at his lack of judgment. “Yes,” she said. “I was able to… to be someone who wasn’t forever tied to my failure to protect my family. And as the Inquisitor, I became the opposite. I was the person they saw as the one who protected everyone.” She snorted and lifted the joint to her mouth once more. “Fucking ironic, isn’t it?”

“Did your clan really see you as someone who failed to protect your family?” he asked.

She blew out a mouthful of smoke. “I _was_ someone who failed to protect my family. He got dragged off because I couldn’t talk the Templars into calming down.”

Felassan smiled faintly. “I hardly believe that the Templars were inclined to listen. Especially if Marin had already hurt some of them.”

Tamaris swallowed hard. “He, uh… he killed one of them, actually. And hurt a couple more. But he didn’t mean to.”

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “If that’s the case, his fate was sealed, and not by you. That wasn’t your fault.” He took the joint from her fingers.

She frowned at him. “What do you mean, his fate was sealed? You really think there was nothing I could have done?”

“Oh, something could certainly have been done,” Felassan said. “But I doubt your clan was willing or ready to start a war against the Chantry.”

Tamaris stared at him as he brought the joint to his lips. “You’re being pretty cold-hearted about this,” she accused.

He released a mouthful of smoke before replying. “Cold-heartedness is not my intention. My intention is to point out that it was not your fault. Look at the bigger picture, and you’ll realize that short of pitting your clan against the Templar Order, there was little you could have done.” He held out the joint to her.

She glared at him, then looked away and took a breath to calm herself. He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t told herself at one point or another, though she never quite believed her own pep talks in this regard.

She believed Felassan, though. Galling as it was to admit, it meant more to hear _him_ saying this than telling it to herself. 

He was still talking. “There was little you could have done at that time, at least. From what I read in _This Shit Is Weird_ , you certainly had a hand in what happened to the Templar Order after the Conclave.”

She frowned slightly as she took the joint from him. “What do you mean?”

“You publicly supported the mages over the Templars,” he said. “The Templars’ ranks were decimated, save for those who came over to your side.”

“Yeah, but the Templars still exist,” Tamaris said.

“You tore them down to their foundations,” he said. “And the person who ultimately controls them now is _your_ former spymaster. They may have taken Marin from you, but you saw that they were taken to heel. It took time, but you got your justice in the end. The hottest flames take some time to build, _avise_ ,” he said knowingly. He pulled from the joint, then exhaled the smoke and shot her a sly smile. “Some might even say you took the Vir’Felassan.”

 _The way of the slow arrow,_ she thought. She gazed at him with a combination of exasperation and affection. Trust him to find some way of seeing her haphazard stumbling with the Inquisition as a convoluted but purposeful path toward a bigger goal. 

She pulled from the joint, then let out a sigh of smoke and leaned into his side once more. “Anyway, that’s, um… yeah. That’s part of the reason I haven’t been back to see my clan.”

“What’s the rest of the reason?” he asked.

She lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “Um, that I was fucking the Dread Wolf and didn’t know it?”

He snorted a laugh. “Letting the Dread Wolf take you would have caused a stir, I imagine.”

Tamaris smirked and held out the joint, and his fingers brushed hers as he took it. “Are there none in your clan who joined his ranks?”

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “There were some. Maybe a dozen in total.”

Felassan smiled faintly. “Whatever happened to ‘the clan is family’?”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed and punched him lightly in the arm. “Don’t be an asshole. We’re a family, not a bunch of single-minded drones like the qunari. If some of them got swayed by the messages that Solas’s operatives were putting out, I can’t blame them.” She shot him a resentful look. “You know what does piss me off, though? Solas looked down on the Dalish so much, then he goes and recruits us anyway. That’s pretty fucking manipulative.”

“It is, yes,” Felassan said.

She frowned. “That’s all you have to say about it?”

He gave her a knowing look that was tinted with melancholy. “Don’t tell me you never manipulated anyone during your time as the Inquisitor. Don’t tell me such a lie.”

She wilted. “Fine, fine, you have a point.” Truthfully, she didn’t have it in her to be particularly angry anymore about the little things Solas had done. With everything that was brewing across the continent these days, it almost felt like she should save her anger for when it would serve her the most.

There was another brief and slightly morose pause as they passed the joint back and forth. Then, as usual, Felassan broke the silence. “So you want to go visit your clan, then?”

“I should,” she said.

He nodded and blew out some smoke, and there was another pause — one that felt loaded this time. As the silence stretched between them to an increasingly awkward degree, Tamaris’s heart began to thrum with nerves. 

_Just fucking ask,_ she scolded herself. She chewed the inside of her cheek, then took a deep breath. “Felassan, will you come visit my clan with me?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “What else would I be doing?”

Her heart flipped in her chest. She stared incredulously at him until his lips curled in a smile. “Why are you gaping at me?” he asked.

“I…” She trailed off for a second, then gave him a skeptical look. “What, no questions, no complaints? Just yes?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Was I unclear when I said we would be travelling together when we leave this house? If you’re going to see your clan, then so am I.”

A warm feeling spread through her ribcage and up to her cheeks. “But you don’t like the Dalish,” she said weakly. “You think we’re close-minded and all that shit.”

He shrugged and extinguished the butt of the joint on the roof. “It’s possible that I was wrong. About _your_ clan, at the very least.”

She scoffed. “Possible, huh?”

He gave her a chiding smirk. “I can eat my own words, _avise_. They’re especially tasty when you slather them with evidence of the ways that I was wrong.”

She grinned goofily at him, then laughed and tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear. “A man who happily admits when he was wrong? What a catch. Maybe I shouldn’t take you back to the clan. All the unattached hunters will try to snap you up.”

“They can’t snap me up,” he said. “You’ve already caught me.”

Her heart leapt. She suddenly remembered the conversation she’d had with Dorian — that conversation where she’d described her feelings for Felassan: _he caught me thoroughly_. Now, to hear Felassan describing himself in a similar way…

He chuckled. “Tamaris, if you smile any wider, your face may split in two.”

She laughed giddily and shoved him. “Fuck you.”

He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her close to kiss her temple, and they scuffled playfully for a moment before settling together once more.

Tamaris sighed happily and patted his thigh. “My mother might ask what your intentions are for me.”

“Hm,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Then I should probably come up with an answer that won’t make your face turn a deep and charming shade of red.”

She scoffed. “You’re such a fucking menace.”

“Thank you, Tamaris,” he said pleasantly. “I try.”

She beamed at him, then settled snugly against his side. They were quiet for a moment, and Tamaris indulged herself in a girlish fantasy of Felassan meeting her parents and telling half-sarcastic stories to her clan, then curling up with her in an aravel in the fragrant quiet of the woods: a stolen moment of peace before they went on to do more important things. 

She eventually squeezed his thigh. “Is there anything else you want to do when we leave the house? Like… trying to find Briala, maybe?”

He huffed in amusement. “You really want me to find her, don’t you?”

“I just think it’s sad that she doesn’t know you’re okay. Or that you’re even alive,” Tamaris said. “Whether _you_ think she needs your help or not, I bet she’d want to hear from you.”

“She will,” Felassan assured her. “We’ll get a message to her.”

“How?” Tamaris asked.

“I was thinking of scratching obscure symbols into trees for her to find.” He smirked at Tamaris. “It’s the kind of thing she used to think the Dalish would do.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Felassan.”

He sighed dramatically. “All right, since you insist. I was thinking about coded letters, sent to different places where her most loyal cells used to be. The code would have to be premised on knowledge that she and I share, but not something Fen’Harel would know as well.”

She straightened with interest. “Do you have a code like that already?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But I’ll think of something.”

Tamaris nodded, then hesitated before asking her next question. “Do you miss her?”

“Does a dandelion miss its seeds when they drift away to conquer new fields?”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “You’re dodging.”

He smiled faintly, then leaned back casually on his palms. “Truthfully, I didn’t have time to miss her. I was made Tranquil the same night that I left her. Then I had no capacity to miss anyone or anything. When Cassandra restored me, I was… I felt too much of everything. How can I know if I missed her when I was caught in a cycle of euphoria and misery and rage?” He glanced at Tamaris. “A better question might be whether I thought of her, and the answer is yes; I thought of her often.”

Tamaris nodded. “I bet she misses you.”

Felassan gave her a chiding smile, and she nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m serious. I bet she would love to see you.”

“She doesn’t need to see me,” Felassan said. “I taught her to stand proudly on her own bare little feet.”

“Who cares about _needing_ to see you?” Tamaris retorted. “I’m sure she _wants_ to see you. Besides, you can’t possibly think the only value you had to her was as her teacher.”

Felassan made a mock-sad face. “That almost feels like an insult to my value as a teacher.”

Tamaris turned to face him fully. “You’re not just a tool, Felassan,” she said fiercely. “You’re not just here to be useful to people. There’s no way Briala spent sixteen years learning from you and didn’t give a shit about you.” She lifted her chin belligerently. “ _I_ think we should find her.”

Felassan smiled. “Is this going to be your mission, then? To broker a reunion between me and Briala?”

“If that’s what it’ll take for you to see that you’re worth more than your value as a spy or a teacher or a source of fucking information, then yes,” she snapped.

His smile softened, and he gently chucked her chin. “Easy, _avise_. You’ll set your hair on fire if you burn any brighter than this.”

She glared at him, irritated by how dismissive he was being. “You’re important, okay? And not because you’re a good spy or a useful ancient elf or any of that shit.”

His eyebrows rose. “Only a _good_ spy? You wound me.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” she snapped. “I don’t care about the spy stuff or the mage stuff or the fact that you know shit about the past. I… those things don’t matter. You’re…”

She faltered, feeling awkward about the depth of her feelings, but Felassan’s smile only grew wider. “Go on,” he said. “Don’t stop yourself before you get to the good bit.”

She curled her lip. “Are you looking for me to list all your best qualities?”

“If you’re so inclined, I wouldn’t say no,” he replied.

She scoffed. He was so _annoying_. “You want me to jack you off while I’m at it?” she said snidely.

He burst out laughing. “How can I say no to a seductive offer like that?”

The treasured sound of his laughter rang straight to her heart. She tutted and folded her arms, and Felassan chuckled and pulled her against his side. “Are you aware that your pouting just makes you more charming?” he said.

“You’re smart, all right?” she burst out. “You’re so smart and perceptive. You can see both sides of things — well, most of the time at least, and when you don’t, you own up when you’re wrong. You make me laugh and you’re so fucking patient and–”

Felassan laughed and wrapped his arm around her. “Tamaris, you can stop. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do, because you need to hear it,” she snapped. “Your value isn’t what you can do for people. It’s who you are. I don’t give a fuck if you never became a spy again or if you couldn’t cook or if you can’t totally control your magic. I’d still love you anyway.”

He grinned at her, and Tamaris’s heart somersaulted in her chest; his mouth was curled with mirth, but his beautiful violet eyes were glittering. 

He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Affectionate and abrasive at the same time. That is one of the reasons that I love _you_.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to shut the fuck up. Instead, she cradled his cheek in her palm and kissed him. He pulled her closer as he returned her kiss, and by the time he broke their kiss to pant against her parted lips, she was practically sitting in his lap. 

He brushed his lips to hers. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured.

“Okay,” she whispered. She rose to her feet and swiftly made her way back to the window, and as soon as they were in her bedroom, he grabbed her hips and backed her against the nearest wall.

She gasped at the impact, but her gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he sealed his lips over hers. He slowly licked her tongue and curled his fingers around her throat, and the whimper that left her throat was muffled by his tongue. 

He caressed her throat, then slowly slid his palm down the length of her sternum to squeeze her waist, and Tamaris fisted her hands in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. His hips pressed into hers, and she nipped his bottom lip and eagerly tilted her hips to meet him. 

Then he pried her hands away from his shirt and pressed her hands back against the wall. 

She broke their kiss with a gasp and arched her spine, and Felassan smiled slyly at her. “Ah. You like this, do you?” He twined his fingers with hers and pressed her hands more firmly into the wall. 

“I like everything you do to me,” she blurted.

His smile widened into something brilliant. “I’m honoured to please you so much.”

Her heart swelled at his words. He was such a generous lover, but that generosity extended beyond the bedroom. He could be cold and brutal, certainly, but with Tamaris, he was generous and thoughtful and selfless almost to a fault. This was another reason she loved him, that she felt so protective of him, and Tamaris would rather cut off her other arm than let him be taken for granted, by her or by anyone else.

She hooked her ankle around his calf to pull him closer and kissed him fiercely, coaxing his tongue to twist sinuously with hers. When he began sliding her hands up the wall, her breath snagged in her throat with excitement, and by the time her arms were stretched above her head, her heart was pounding between her legs. 

He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and gave her a soft lingering kiss, then gently peeled his lips away, and Tamaris whimpered and arched her spine. “Felassan…” 

“Yes, Tamaris?” he murmured.

She stared breathlessly at him, enthralled by the jewel-like brightness of his eyes and the strength of his hands gripping her wrists. His elegant fingers were perfectly firm without being too rough, and the feeling of his lovely warm hands holding her place felt so good, almost like her skin was tingling warmly beneath his palms…

Then she realized something. The tingling – this warm tingling feeling rippling across the skin of her wrists: it wasn’t just the heat of his hands or the thrumming pulse of her lust humming beneath her skin. It was something else.

Her belly jolted with excitement. The tingling feeling was something else: something that had become wonderfully familiar to her after their many weeks of sparring together.

She stared at him in wonder. “Are you using magic on me?” she asked breathlessly.

“You tell me,” he said. He released her wrists and stepped back. 

Riled by the distance he’d placed between them, she took a step toward him — or tried to, at least. But she couldn’t move. Her wrists were stuck to the wall. 

She gaped at him. Her wrists still felt warm and tingly as though he was holding them, but he was standing a meter away from her and smiling in a very self-satisfied way.

She burst out a laugh. “You tied me to the wall using magic?”

His smile widened. “So it seems.”

She beamed at him in exhilaration. He’d never used magic during sex before. Tamaris had assumed he wouldn’t be comfortable risking it, especially since he’d had to work so hard to pull _back_ on his magic during sex. The fact that he was using it now on purpose, and with such a delicate degree of control… She was so fucking proud of him she thought her heart might burst. 

He folded his arms. “I take it you don’t want me to let you go?”

She lifted her chin in challenge. “I think you should show me what you had in mind when you decided to tie me to the wall.” 

His smile curled wickedly, and he took one slow step toward her. “What if I told you I didn’t have anything in mind?”

 _I don’t believe you,_ she thought gleefully. He would certainly have had to practice doing this, so there was no way he didn’t have anything in mind.

She shrugged as much as she could with both of her hands bound above her head. “You’re creative. You’ll figure something out.”

He chuckled — a low, teasing curl of mischief that sent a delicious shiver down her spine – then began to approach her in a slow and casual saunter. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I already have one regret, though.” 

“What’s that?” she said breathlessly.

“I should have stripped you before tying your hands to the wall,” he said. Carefully, without touching her skin, he rolled up the hem of her sleeveless top until it was bundled above her breasts, then unhooked her front-clasping bra. 

Tamaris tried to press her chest toward his hands, but he was careful not to touch her as he opened the parted halves of her bra. He stepped back once more to look at her, and she restlessly twisted her hips as she endured his scrutiny. His glowing eyes were tracing over her bare breasts and her belly, and his lustful gaze was like a heated breeze teasing her skin with a hint of the pleasure that his hands would give her, if only he would deign to put them on her body.

She whimpered and pulled at her hands, but the warmth of his magic was implacable. “Come here and touch me,” she pleaded. 

He shook his head. His eyes were still roaming over her bare torso. “Not yet,” he said. “Not while there’s still so much that I can’t see.” He reached out and untied her leggings, then carefully rolled her leggings and smallclothes down to her ankles, lowering himself to his knees as he did. 

_Oh gods,_ she thought deliriously. Felassan on his knees in front of her, with his glorious talented mouth just a few inches away from where she needed him the most… 

A rush of desire pulsed between her legs. He tossed her clothes aside and sat back on his heels to study her, and Tamaris whined and writhed against the wall. “Felassan…”

He lifted his eyes to her face and smiled faintly. “Keep saying my name. You know how much I like hearing it in that sweet pleading voice.”

She burst out a laugh. “Smug asshole.”

He chuckled. “Don’t try and fool me into thinking you don’t enjoy it. Your enjoyment is _vey_ obvious.” He brushed one thumb very lightly over her slick folds.

A burst of sheer mindless _want_ fanned out through her abdomen. She moaned shamelessly and widened her legs, but his thumb was already gone, and Tamaris stared pleadingly at him as he carefully sucked her slickness off of his thumb. 

He looked up to meet her eyes once more. “Tamaris, you almost look good enough to eat.”

His words, his teasing words… She could practically feel his tongue between her legs already. She curled her hips toward him. “Almost?” she gasped. 

“Yes, almost,” he said. He rose to his feet and lifted her chin. “I want you dripping for me, _avise_. I want you to be so ripe that your body is crying for me to lick you. Can you do that for me?”

 _Yes,_ she thought feverishly. _Yes yes yes._ His filthy words were already raising the pulse between her legs and the dizzying pulse in her head, and she had no doubt that her lust would soon be trickling down her thigh.

She nodded eagerly, and he smiled at her. “Good girl,” he murmured. He cupped the underside of her breast and stroked his thumb over her nipple. 

She clenched her fists and arched her chest toward him, but his touch remained delicate and slow, brushing teasingly around her nipple until it was a hardened little peak. He hummed with satisfaction, then framed her other breast with his fingers and teased her other nipple in kind, and Tamaris moaned at his torturously gentle touch. She tried to twist her wrists, but his magic made the most delicate of shackles, holding her in place with none of the pain that any real bindings would provide. 

Felassan gently pinched her nipple, and she twitched and gasped. When he dipped his head down to kiss the peak of her breast, she pulled instinctively at her arms, wanting to pull him close so he would take her breast firmly in his mouth.

Her arms didn’t budge. Frustrated and riled and delighted, she burst out a laugh. “For fuck’s sake.”

He looked up at her with a sly smile. “Is something wrong?”

She twisted her hips and arched her spine. “You just love torturing me, don’t you?”

“I love torturing you as much as you love being tortured,” he replied. “But if you want me to release you, I will.” He straightened and brushed his thumb over her lips, but his eyes were serious. “Do you want me to release you?”

She shook her head, and he smiled. “So you _do_ enjoy being teased until you’re at your wit’s end.”

She scoffed. “Yes, yes, I like it. I like when you tease me like a smug brat, okay?”

“I’m glad,” he said smoothly. “Because I certainly enjoy the way your voice gets so needy when you start to beg.” He dipped his head low once more and trailed his tongue over her nipple. 

The heat of his tongue sent a ripple of pleasure straight down to her groin. “I hate you,” she whined.

“Liar,” he purred. He lapped at her nipple again, slow firm strokes of his tongue that made her increasingly desperate for him to suckle her breast. She panted for breath and waited with growing anticipation for the moment when he would finally give in and take her breast into his mouth.

But that moment didn’t come. Instead, he kneeled at her feet once more and placed one palm on her thigh. “Hm. You’re getting riper, but you’re not ripe enough yet.”

She whined in frustration and strained against his magic, to no avail. “Come on,” she complained. “I can feel how wet I am. Just lick me.”

He shot her a smile. “That’s awfully bossy for someone who’s stuck to the wall.”

“Just lick me!” she burst out. “I need you!”

“I can’t,” he said. “You’re not ready yet.”

She twisted her wrists and glared at him. “It’s your fault I’m not ready. You’re not teasing me enough.”

He barked out an incredulous laugh. “You’re challenging me? _You’re_ challenging _me_ when you’re at my mercy?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said belligerently.

“An unwise choice,” he said. “Especially since I, unlike you, am not tied down.” He rose to his feet and slowly started pacing in front of her. “I could leave the room entirely. Would you like that?”

“No!” she blurted. “No, please don’t leave.”

“‘Please’,” he said musingly. “That’s a word that good girls say. Maybe I’ll sit here instead.” He sat on the edge of the bed and tilted his head. “I could sit here and just watch you until you’re begging for me. How would that sound?”

She whimpered and shook her head, and Felassan raised his eyebrows. “No? What if I took out my cock and stroked it while you watch? Would that make you wet for me?”

Gods, those blunt words delivered in his silken purr of a voice… A pulse of desire shot straight to the apex of her thighs. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, please!”

He smiled slowly. “Good girl.” He pulled his shirt over his head and opened his breeches, and Tamaris stared avidly as he pulled out his hard length.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock and slowly stroked himself, and Tamaris’s mouth dropped open in longing. The sight of his hand moving down along his length, then sliding back up before coming back down in a slow hypnotic rhythm… 

_Fuck’s sake, I’m jealous of his hand,_ she thought giddily. She was jealous of Felassan’s hand as he stroked his own cock. 

She pulled at her arms until they ached, wanting to cup his balls in her palm and take his cock into her throat. When a tiny bead of moisture appeared at the tip of his cock, she whimpered. “Felassan, come on!”

“What’s the matter, _avise?_ ” he crooned.

“I want to taste you!” she whined.

He stroked himself again. “You want to taste this?’ he said, and he ran his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the drop of moisture until it blended into his skin.

“Yes!” she blurted.

His hand slid down his cock, and Tamaris clenched her fist in longing. Then Felassan spoke again in a low, teasing tone. “Would you like it if you were on your knees in front of me and sucking me hard?”

She bucked her hips. “Yes, yes!”

He sighed happily. “Ah, Tamaris. You are a terrible minx. Sadly, I can’t let you suck on my cock.”

“Why not?” she complained.

He smirked. “Because you’re tied to the wall.”

She growled in frustration and strained against the bindings of his magic until he spoke again. “What I can do, though, is I can go on my knees in front of _you_ and I can lick you clean.”

A sudden dizzying rush of lust surged through her body. She gasped in a breath and pulled fruitlessly at her hands. “What, am I ripe enough now?” she taunted. 

“Yes, you are,” he said. “Can’t you tell?” 

“I can’t see, since I’m stuck to the fucking wall,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Look how irritable you are. That’s how I know you’re really ready.” He pumped his fist along his length one last time, then rose from the bed and padded toward her. “Let me show you how ripe you are, then, since you can’t see.” He rested one hand on her waist, and she was so riled up from his filthy words that the mere touch of his hand on her waist felt incredible.

She gasped and arched her spine. Then Felassan reached down and dipped two fingers between her legs. 

She cried out at the intimate touch. Felassan stroked her once, a firm slow stroke along her exquisitely swollen flesh, then lifted his hand to show her the sheen on his fingers. 

“You’re glazed with this, Tamaris,” he told her quietly. “This is all over your thighs and dripping on the floor.” 

His voice was a low and husky growl. Tamaris bucked her hips and gazed pleadingly at him. She couldn’t decide what was making her more desperate: the sound of his voice, or the words he was saying. When he took his fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, she sobbed. 

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Felassan, please, I need you…”

He planted one hand on the wall beside her. “Tell me,” he said silkily. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

“I need you to lick me and make me come,” she wailed. 

He smiled, then tipped her chin up. “Good girl,” he whispered, and he kissed her. 

His tongue coaxed her lips apart before slipping sweetly into her mouth, and _fenedhis_ , she could taste her own need on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth and writhed against the wall and tried to twist her wrists, and when Felassan dropped to his knees in front of her, she thrust her hips shamelessly toward his face. 

He chuckled and grasped her hips firmly. “Easy, _avise_. Let me taste this fine pussy of yours.” He kissed her hip, then kissed the very top of her thigh: slow open-mouthed kisses punctuated with a lap of the tongue, and Tamaris panted fitfully as his mouth drew closer to her pulsing center — closer and closer, _gods please, lick me now_ –

He kissed her sex and dipped his tongue into her folds to press gently against her clit, and she shuddered and slumped against the wall. Fuck, _fuck_ , the heat of his mouth, the long-anticipated stroke of his tongue and the sweet caress of his lips as he kissed her lust-slicked folds: she’d been waiting for so long, waiting so fucking patiently for him to give her this pleasure, and now that she had the exquisite heat of his mouth moving in a delicate dance between her legs, she recognized without shame that the torturous wait had been completely worth it. 

He lapped carefully at her clit, careful brushes of his tongue that sent mind-numbing ripples of pleasure through her abdomen and her thighs. Then his fingers were slipping over her folds, caressing her with a gentle petting stroke, parting her folds to trace her entrance–

He slid two fingers inside of her, and she jolted convulsively. “Felassan, yes!” she yelped. She twisted her shoulders fiercely, and a dull ache of pain coursed through her arms. 

Felassan hummed approvingly into her pussy and curled his fingers inside of her, and the ache in her arms was instantly replaced by the overwhelming pulse of pleasure that his tongue and his fingers were building in her body. 

She blissfully closed her eyes and rolled her hips to match the rhythm of his fingers and his tongue. He murmured his approval again, sending a faint purr of vibration through her sensitive flesh that only served to heighten her lust even more. A handful of heartbeats later, his carefully lapping tongue coaxed her into an explosion of pleasure.

She yanked hard at her wrists and cried out, wanting nothing more in this moment than to sink her hands into his beautiful midnight hair. He continued to lap at her and curl his fingers inside of her, and when the last shivering pulse of pleasure finally ebbed away, she let out a long relieved sigh. 

“Felassan,” she breathed. “Let me go.”

He lifted his head to look at her, then swiftly rose to his feet and moved his fingers in a subtle gesture, and Tamaris’s hands finally came free from the wall. 

She lowered her arms with a wince; her shoulders and arms were aching from straining against his magic. A second later, Felassan was massaging her left shoulder and upper arm. 

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

She nodded, but frankly, she didn’t care that her arms were aching. She gently pushed his hands away before stripping off her shirt and bra and swiftly unstrapping her prosthetic arm.

She placed her prosthetic on the ground, then took a step toward Felassan and pushed his bare chest. “Sit on the bed again.”

He grinned. “Are you–”

She kissed him hard and walked him back toward the bed, then roughly pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Stop talking,” she panted. “I’m going to talk now.” She crawled onto the bed behind him and settled herself on her knees, just behind his right hip.

He laughed dirtily. “ _Veraisa,_ ” he accused. “Are you going to say lovely filthy words to me now?” 

She reached around his waist and stroked his belly with her right hand. “I’m going to do more than that,” she told him. “I’m going to take your cock in my hand and squeeze you hard.”

He inhaled sharply, and his hips rose toward her hand. “That sounds like a good plan,” he murmured.

She hummed in agreement and kissed his shoulder. “I’ll squeeze you and run my hand slowly along your cock, and I’ll imagine it’s my mouth on your cock instead.”

He licked his lips and nodded; his hips were moving a slow subtle thrust now. “What else, _avise_? What else will you imagine?”

She lifted herself a little higher on her knees and brushed her lips over his neck. “I’ll imagine you fucking my throat nice and deep,” she said. She swiftly licked her palm, then took his cock in her fist.

He jerked and gasped. Tamaris licked his neck, and he moaned and pumped toward her fist. 

She licked his neck again. “Yes, fuck my hand. That’s a good boy.” 

He laughed – a husky, strained sound that sent a fresh wave of desire between her legs. “You really are a minx,” he breathed.

She smiled. “I learned from the best. Now keep fucking my fist like a good boy.” She slid her hand firmly along his lovely hard length. 

He grabbed her thigh and pumped his hips toward her hand. When he was panting and pushing his cock through her fist in a nice rhythm, she kissed his neck, then bit him.

He burst out another low groan. “Tamaris…”

She traced her tongue over his earlobe. “Yes, Felassan?”

He laughed again, and he sounded distinctly breathless this time. “Keep talking,” he said. “Tell me what you’re going to do next.”

She nibbled his neck before speaking again. “I’m going to keep stroking your hard thick cock while you moan for me in that sexy voice. And right when you’re about to come, you’re going to tell me.”

He nodded and squeezed her thigh, then let out a shaky breath. “What will you do when I tell you?”

“I’ll let go of you,” she said. “And you’re going to be so fucking horny for me that you’re going to shove me down on the bed and fuck me.”

He groaned again and thrust his hips more firmly toward her hand. “That is – _ah_ – that’s a truly inspired plan,” he moaned. “L-lucky for you, I…” He gasped and dropped his head. “Tamaris, _sathan…_ ” 

She kissed his neck. “Are you going to come?” she murmured. 

“Not… not yet,” he gasped. His hand was tightening on her thigh, however, and his voice was more strained than ever, and Tamaris waited with bated breath for him to say it.

He suddenly gasped. “Let me go,” he blurted.

She released his cock, and he shuddered fitfully and dug his nails into her thigh. “ _Isalan hima sa i’na,_ ” he moaned. 

“You didn’t come, did you?” she asked. She peered around his shoulder to look at his cock. 

He stood up abruptly and wrapped his fingers around her throat, and the suddenness of his hand on her neck sent a dizzying rush of desire straight to her groin. 

“Fuck me,” she blurted. “Felassan, I need–”

“Get down on your belly,” he ordered. 

Oh gods, his _voice_ : it was smooth and low with a dangerous hint of a growl, and Tamaris couldn’t obey him fast enough. She turned over onto her hands and knees and lowered herself down so her chest was flush to the bed. 

Felassan shoved his breeches down and stepped toward the bed, but instead of joining her on the bed, he cupped her cheek in his palm. 

He bent over the bed and kissed her firmly. “Everything you do pleases me, too,” he breathed.

His smile was tender and heated and open, an open welcome that reached all the way up to the crinkled corners of his violet eyes, and Tamaris smiled stupidly at him. He slid onto the bed behind her and ran his palm from her nape down to the small of her back, then placed his palms on her bottom as though he was savouring the curves of her body against his palms. 

He shuffled closer to her and slid his cock between her legs. Tamaris jolted and bucked back to meet him, and his hands moved from her buttocks to her hips. 

He took hold of her hips. “Slowly,” he crooned. “Go slowly, _avise._ ”

“No,” she moaned. She wiggled her hips, but Felassan’s grip grew tighter to hold her still. He nudged her entrance with the tip of his cock, and Tamaris gasped and tensed, ready to take him deep — gods, she was ready, she’d been ready since the second he stretched her hands over her head against the wall— 

But Felassan didn’t push any deeper. He gently brushed the head of his cock along her folds before resting at her slick threshold once more, then didn’t move. 

She mewled and writhed beneath him and clawed at the bed with her one hand, to no avail; Felassan’s grip on her hips was just as implacable as the magic he’d used on her wrists. 

She sobbed. “Fuck me! Felassan, fuck me, fuck me now, _please!_ ”

“Good girl,” he said, and he slid inside of her in a hard swift stroke. 

The slick pressure of his cock sent a blinding wave of pleasure through her body, tearing a strangled cry from her throat. She shivered convulsively and tried hard to catch her breath, and when she finally dragged in a little mewling gasp of air, Felassan bent over her and planted his hands on either side of her body. 

“Fuck me, Tamaris,” he said in a low voice. “Show me how much you want me.”

She instantly bucked back in a hard thrust. A guttural gasp left him, and then Tamaris was thrusting back to meet him as hard and fast as she could. 

He dropped his forehead to the back of her neck, and Tamaris squeezed her eyes shut as the feral grunts of his breathing fanned across her shoulder. His lips moved across her shoulder blade in a torrid caress, and then he spoke in a strained voice. “ _Ane ise inor vhenan_.”

 _You are the fire in my heart._ A flush of heartwrenching warmth washed through her chest. She reached over her shoulder and stroked his face and bucked back to meet his cock.

He groaned and bit her shoulder, and Tamaris continued to fuck him hard as he had asked. A few blissful minutes later, she felt the shuddering of his body through his arms and his chest as his climax struck.

He curled his hips to thrust into her hard, and she gasped at the depth of his cock inside of her body as he pumped into her in a furious rhythm, the pulsing steel of his cock hard and perfect as he rode her through his peak. When his shuddering grew still, he sighed heavily and lowered himself to his elbows on top of her.

He hummed lazily and rubbed his cheek against her back, and Tamaris smiled as his weight pressed her into the bed. He lazily pressed his lips against her back in a series of slow kisses, and she savoured the lazy rise and fall of his ribcage through her spine.

A couple of minutes later, his lips went still on her skin. Tamaris shifted her shoulders. “If you fall asleep on top of me, I won’t be happy,” she warned.

“In the olden days, it was a compliment to fall asleep on top of your partner,” he mumbled.

She scoffed. “It was not.”

“It was too,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a Vir Dirthara entry about it.”

His speech was fuzzy with satisfaction and mirth, and Tamaris smirked. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she retorted. “Now come on, brat, get off.” She wiggled her hips. 

He chuckled and finally withdrew from her body, then rolled onto his back and pulled her close. When she was settled on his chest, he sighed and ran his hand over her hair. 

She smiled goofily as his fingers threaded through her hair. A minute later, however, his caressing hand started to slow down. 

She lifted her head to look at him; his eyes were closed. She gently shook him. “Hey,” she said softly. 

He inhaled sharply, and his eyes popped open. “Mm,” he said, and he smiled lazily at her. “We need our tea. Before I fall asleep completely.” 

She nodded and shifted off of him, then watched him thoughtfully as he stood up and started putting on his breeches. When he was half-dressed, he turned back to face her and smiled. “Are you staying here, then? Am I to pamper you again?”

She smiled faintly but shook her head. “No, I’ll come downstairs with you,” she said. “But I was thinking, um… I thought maybe I’ll stop taking the Fade-blocking tea.”

He tilted his head curiously, and she made a little face. “You probably guessed this already, but the reason I was taking it was, um… I had dreams. About _him._ ”

He nodded an acknowledgement, and Tamaris slid off of the bed. She pulled on her smalls and her shirt, then turned to face Felassan again. “The dreams were… it was making it hard to _not_ think about him. It’s part of the reason I started drinking so much, especially at night. But now, I…” She shrugged and rubbed idly at the stump of her arm. “If Solas shows up in my dreams now, I think I can take it. I can… I can face him now. It’s not like before. I’m… still pissed at him sometimes, but it’s not like before.”

Felassan nodded again, but he was smiling. Tamaris tilted her head. “What do you think? Is it stupid to stop taking the tea?”

“I think it’s an excellent sign that you no longer want to hide,” he said. “From the Fade, or from him.” He folded his arms and leaned back against the writing desk. “I’ve been thinking something similar myself, actually. I could spend the rest of my life blocking myself from the world of dreams, but I dislike the idea of hiding.”

Tamaris frowned. “But if Solas finds out you’re still alive, he might try to kill you again.” 

Felassan shrugged. “He might, yes.”

A pulse of anxiety seized her chest. How was he being so casual about this?

She took a step toward him. “Felassan, I don’t like the sound of this.”

“It is a calculated risk,” he said. “And it’s one I am willing to take. Maybe not right away, but one I want to take.”

She gazed at him tensely, torn between her wish to support him and her wish to keep him safe from anyone who would dare to harm him. While she struggled to find an appropriate response, a small smile lit his face. “Struck dumb, are you?”

She scowled at him, and he reached out and pulled her close. “There was a reason that I chose to face Fen’Harel in the Fade instead of running, and it wasn’t just that I felt my purpose had come to an end,” he said. “I might be a spy who prefers to work in the shadows, but I am not a coward.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, if you and I are going to be travelling together, people will see us. He’ll discover that I’m alive sooner or later.”

“But I don’t want you to serve yourself up to him in the Fade,” she blurted. “He tried to kill you before for betraying him, and when he finds out you’re with us he’s definitely going to see you as a traitor–” 

“Tamaris,” he said firmly. “This is what I want to do. You told me to be blunt with you and to tell you what I want? This is what I want.”

She pressed her lips together hard. Fuck it, he was right. But why was _this_ the time when he had to demand what he wanted?

She blew out a breath. “Fine,” she said bad-temperedly. “Fine. You want to walk in the Fade again, then I’ll… I’ll support you. But don’t do it today,” she begged. “Don’t stop taking the Fade-blocking tea today. Just wait for a while longer–”

“I will,” he said soothingly. “I wasn’t planning on quitting the tea today. But you should go ahead and stop taking it tonight, if you wish.”

She nodded, but his words were little comfort; she was distracted now by the ominous thought of Felassan entering the Fade again. 

He chuckled and kissed her temple. “Come, _avise_. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can nag me while I prepare the tea.” 

“I’m not nagging,” she said defensively. “I’m just… ugh.” She sighed heavily and glared at him. “I love you, okay? And I’m going to be fucking pissed if something happens to you.”

He chuckled and pulled her toward the door. “I love you too. And don’t worry. I’ll be safe in the Fade.”

She gave him a deeply skeptical look as she followed him downstairs. “How do you know you’ll be safe?”

“Trust me,” he said. “I have the wisdom of ages guiding my actions.”

His tone was irreverent, and Tamaris rolled her eyes. For now, though, she decided to let it go. If he wasn’t going to stop taking the Fade-blocking tea tonight, they had time to discuss this further.

 _Trust me_ , Felassan had said. And Tamaris did. She trusted him with her heart and her happiness: two things she never thought she’d entrust to anyone again. And if Felassan felt certain that he’d be safe in the Fade, she would trust him about that as well. 

*********************

That night, Tamaris dreamed of _him._

She was in a forest somewhere, and it was night. She wasn’t sure where the forest was, but she knew it was safe because it was familiar, and she knew it was familiar because it was safe. And despite the darkness of night, the clearing was bright enough to see.

Bright enough to spot the six-eyed wolf as he emerged from the trees. 

He stopped at the far edge of the clearing and sat back on his haunches, and Tamaris gazed calmly at him. She had never been able to find the right words to say during these rare and fragmented dreams, but now, for the first time since the dreams had begun, she knew what to say. 

“I forgive you,” she said. 

Three pairs of lupine eyes blinked, and Tamaris clarified her meaning. “I forgive you for leaving me, I mean. It’s… it’s not fine, exactly, but it’s… We weren’t right for each other. Maybe you just saw that before I did.” 

He bowed his shaggy head, and Tamaris was silent for a moment. Then she took a small step closer to him. “If you tear down the Veil and ruin this world, though, I will not forgive you.” 

The wolf looked up and met her gaze. Tamaris stared steadily back at him, and in the privacy of her thoughts, she added another threat: _If you lay a hand on Felassan, I will kill you._

She didn’t say this, though. She wasn’t going to be the one to reveal the fact that Felassan was still alive. That was for Felassan to reveal when he felt ready.

A moment passed: the infinite duration of a space between breaths. Then Tamaris spoke again. “I don’t want you to come see me like this anymore,” she said quietly. “Not unless you’re coming to tell me you’re giving up your bullshit. If you change your mind about destroying the world, come see me again. If not, then I don’t want to see you here anymore.” 

He blinked again. And finally, at long last, Tamaris saw the thing she’d always failed to see when he’d visited her dreams before: that intangible thing that she’d always searched for without knowing she was looking for it.

It was there, in the depth of his six blue-black eyes: regret. Regret for his world and for hers, and regret for _them_. 

_There’s still hope, then,_ she thought. Not for herself and him, since that was long over now. But if he had regret, there was still hope for her world and all the people in it. Regret could swallow a person more easily than a wolf’s jaws if they allowed it, and now that she had a better understanding of his place in the Elvhen empire, Tamaris knew the truth: he had been teetering at the edge of that wolf’s jaws since the moment they had met.

She stepped back. “ _Dareth shiral,_ Solas.”

He gazed at her for another moment — or maybe for an hour; she couldn’t really tell in the Fade. Then he bowed his head before turning away and disappearing into the woods. 

As his tail disappeared into the darkness, it felt like something of hers was disappearing along with him, dissipating into the darkness like dye washing into the sea.

Tamaris sighed in satisfaction, then opened her eyes. 

Felassan was awake, and he was watching her with a little smile on his face. 

She rubbed her eyes. “Everything okay?” she said fuzzily. 

His reply was very quiet. “You said goodbye to Solas. And you were smiling.” 

Her heart jolted. She’d said that? She’d actually said goodbye to Solas in her sleep? 

She grimaced. Creators, that was awkward. “Um, yeah. I… I saw Solas. I asked him not to visit me in the Fade anymore.”

“Why not?” Felassan said. 

She gave him an odd look. “Because there’s no reason for him to visit me. There’s nothing between us to revisit anymore.”

Felassan’s smile widened. “ _Ar lasa mala revas,_ ” he said quietly.

She frowned slightly. “What?”

“ _Ar lasa mala revas,_ ” Felassan repeated. “It means, ‘now you are free’. It’s what he used to say to slaves after he removed their vallaslin — after he broke their shackles to the gods who bound them.” 

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then wrinkled her nose. “This isn’t really the same.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But does it not feel that way, a little bit?”

She gazed at him appraisingly. _Now you are free,_ she thought. And the more she rolled the words around in her mind, the more she realized how apt they were. 

In a manner of speaking, she _was_ shackled before. She was trapped by her own anger and bitterness, stuck in a cage of her own making that none of her friends had been able to breach. But now, thanks to Felassan’s patience and understanding and humour, she was no longer trapped by that bilious and isolating rage.

She was free. Felassan had helped to set her free. 

She rolled onto her side to face him. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I do feel free.”

He smiled. “It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?”

In the feeble light of the moon peeking through the curtains, his catlike eyes were faintly luminescent. His smile was broad and soft and his hair was a silky tangle spread across the pillow, and the sleepy scent of his skin had infused the sheets so that all she could breathe was him. 

She shuffled closer to him and stroked his neck, then pulled him close for a kiss. He slanted his lips carefully over hers and pulled her beneath his body, and as she lost herself in the pleasure of his lips and his hands in her hair, she realized that he was right: she was free.

For the first time in years, Tamaris was truly free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen thanks to FenxShiral: 
> 
> \- _Sathan_ : please.  
> \- _Isalan hima sa i’na_ : I lust to become one with you/I want to fuck you.  
> \- _Ane ise inor vhenan_ : You are the fire in my heart.  
> \- _Ar lasa mala revas_ : I give you freedom/you are now free. A phrase both beloved and hated by all Solasmancers. 
> 
> My dear friends, there is but one chapter left. Later this week. 😭
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to say hello. xo


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of events from the Tevinter Nights story, _Half Up Front_.
> 
> Incredible amazing art by my soulmate [Schoute!](https://schoute.tumblr.com/) 😭❤😭❤

**Three months later…**

Felassan sauntered down the stairs with his cloak fastened around his shoulders and one of Dorian’s unpaired sending crystals around his neck. 

Tamaris was waiting for him in the main room. She was similarly dressed for travelling, and around her neck she wore the other unpaired crystal that Dorian had sent. With the help of Tamaris’s faint but stable magic, Felassan had imbued the crystals with a rather complex spell that would make him and Tamaris difficult to perceive and affect with magic: a crude version of the cloaking spell that Fen’Harel had once used to protect his people. Felassan could only see it as poetic justice that he was using a similar spell now to protect Tamaris and himself from the spies of Fen’Harel. 

He padded toward her with a smile. “Are you sure you won’t miss this house?”

She shrugged and looked around. “Maybe a little, actually. It’s really grown on me.”

He nodded and looked around as well. In the past few months, he and Tamaris had finished stripping and painting all the walls on the main floor of the house. Now, instead of gaudy Orlesian wallpaper, the walls were jewel-toned backdrops covered chaotically in art of his and Tamaris’s making. 

They’d painted a multitude of things: warriors on halla, showers of arrows, mages throwing fire and ice, a panoply of animals and plants and vines, and abstract slashes and streaks of colour that blended together in wild patterns. And in the front foyer, in the place where people first walked though the door, was the very first mural he and Tamaris had done together: a slow arrow dancing through a brilliant forest of flame. 

He shrugged and gestured for her to follow him to the door. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back someday. Probably.”

She snorted. “That’s… reassuring, I guess?” 

“Uncertainty can be reassuring,” he said. “At the very least, you can rest assured that we will never be bored.” Indeed, their travel plans would keep them busy for quite some time. Their first stop would be the forest near Starkhaven to visit Tamaris’s clan, followed by some unstructured wandering in the direction of Kont-aar in the hopes that they would encounter a couple of travellers: a Tevinter mage named Vadis and her elven partner Irian. According to Varric, Vadis and Irian had been heavily involved in an incident out in Rivain, and a Ben-Hassrath contact was sending them to Varric as an apparent sign of goodwill. If Felassan and Tamaris were lucky, they would find the pair and help them get safely to Kirkwall. 

And if they were very lucky – if Felassan’s coded letters had found their way to their marks – perhaps someone else would find Felassan and Tamaris along the way: a certain _da’len_ that Felassan had carefully taught _not_ to be found. 

Tamaris smiled wryly. “That is reassuring, actually. You have been starting to bore me.”

Her eyebrows were quirked with mischief. Felassan pulled a mock-sad face and pressed one hand to his chest. “You wound me, _avise._ ” 

She chuckled, then picked up one of the travelling packs by the door and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks. “Do you have your daggers and knives?” he said.

She nodded and patted the sheath of throwing knives strapped to her thigh. “I’m all set. You have your staff?”

He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and patted his short length of ironwood — ironwood imbued with a faint melodic hum of Tamaris’s magic and his own. “All ready to test out on some dastardly foes,” he said.

She huffed in amusement. “All right. Here we go.” She opened the door and gestured for him to step outside. “Age before beauty,” she said cheekily. 

He burst out a little laugh. “An age joke? How unoriginal. I’m disappointed.” He playfully tugged a lock of her hair.

She snickered and smacked his hand away. “Fine, fine,” she said. “I’ll go first.” She stepped through the door, and Felassan admired the way the morning sun lit her raven curls with streaks of deep red, as though the sun was finding the fire hidden in the midnight depths of her hair.

_Avise alas’nirelan,_ he thought. _She who dances with fire._ Then, for the first time ever, Felassan stepped through the front door of the Hightown mansion. 

He looked around surreptitiously as Tamaris locked up the mansion. There were lazy nobles and busy messengers moving around the streets, as well as the odd guardsman doing a patrol. A few of them looked in his direction, but their eyes slid over him as though he wasn’t there. 

_Excellent,_ he thought. _The crystals are working._ He couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he and Tamaris had actually managed to make a crude but reasonably functional replica of the spell that had eventually become the foundation for the Veil. 

Tamaris sidled up to him and squeezed his hand. “Ready to go?”

He looked at his Dalish lover. Her hood was pulled up to cover her hair and her expression was serious, but her bright green eyes were steady and warm. 

He twined his fingers with hers, then pulled up his hood as well. “I’m ready,” he said. “Let us find ourselves an adventure.”

****************************

They travelled in an eastward direction along the coast until the last vestiges of the sun were gone. Tamaris set up a small tent while Felassan set wards to wake them if anyone approached, and when their campsite was ready, they shared a meal of apples and freshly roasted rabbit. When their meal was done, Felassan fetched a small pouch of dried herbs from his pack, and he and Tamaris settled themselves cross-legged in front of the fire. 

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’m ready if you are.” She blew out a breath, then gave Felassan a penetrating look. “Are you ready?”

Felassan smiled faintly. Her brow was creased in a frown, but the sternness of her face only spoke to him of her worry. 

The novelty of having someone worry about him had yet to wear off, even after the months he and Tamaris had spent together. When a person spent twenty-five years in a strange land making his way on his own, having someone who cared about his welfare was… oddly pleasant. And unexpected.

But then again, everything about he and Tamaris finding each other was pleasantly unexpected.

He opened his pouch of herbs. “I’m ready, _avise._ That is why we’re sitting here, after all.” 

He half-expected her to make a snarky remark, but her expression remained somber. “All right,” she said. “Well, just remember, if he threatens you—”

Felassan cut her off with a chuckle. “I know, Tamaris. I’ll say what you told me to say. I swear it.”

She exhaled once more, then nodded sternly. “All right. I’ll be right here keeping guard.”

He gazed her affectionately. She was awfully cute when she was protective. He reached out and ran his palm soothingly over her lovely unruly curls. “You might want to grab a book from your pack to entertain yourself,” he said. “It’s quite boring to watch a dreamwalker while they’re, you know. Dreamwalking.”

“If I get bored of staring at you, I’ll draw a picture,” she said flatly.

He grinned. There was the snarky remark he’d been waiting for. “An excellent idea,” he said. He kissed her forehead, then turned to face the fire.

The flames were licking eagerly up toward the sky, like playful fingers trying to lure him in. Felassan breathed slowly and deeply until he was centered and calm, then sprinkled a small handful of herbs over the fire.

The fire abruptly changed from orange to a brilliant vibrant green, and the smell of the smoke became something sharp and old. 

Felassan closed his eyes, and for the first time in five years, he dreamed.

When he opened his eyes once more, he was still seated in front of the fire, but he was alone. The peaceful copse of trees where he and Tamaris were camping was imbued with the comforting glowing aura of the Fade, and Felassan sighed in relief as he rose to his feet. 

Behind him, he heard a sound.

_Not a sound, really,_ he corrected himself; it was more a suggestion of a sound, like the feeling you got at the back of your neck when you were in a darkened room, but you just _knew_ someone else was there. 

Felassan smiled to himself, then turned around. “Recruitment’s going well for you, I hear,” he said. “You always did have a penchant for a good rousing speech.”

Solas tilted his head. The look on his face was complex: neutral at first glance, maybe a little censorious. But buried in his blue-grey eyes was that ever-present _abelas’alas’en_ : that world-weary wistful sadness that had become such an ingrained part of Solas’s expression that Felassan could hardly remember what he looked like without that melancholy in his face.

“I could kill you now,” Solas said.

Felassan leaned casually against a nearby tree and folded his arms. “I’ve been wondering why you didn’t kill me in the first place.” He raised an eyebrow. “A miscalculation, I suppose?”

“A mistake,” Solas said. “One of many.”

Felassan laughed. “Still flagellating yourself, I see. Some things really never change.”

Solas didn’t reply. For a long, suspended moment, he and Felassan simply stared at each other, and Felassan couldn’t quite tell if they were sizing each other up like wolves about to pounce, or whether they were simply marvelling at the strangeness of seeing each other again after five long years apart. 

Felassan finally broke the tension. “You can’t kill me,” he said.

Solas lifted his chin slightly. “And why is that?”

“You’ve taken so much from her already,” Felassan said. “Do you really want to take me from her as well?”

Solas went very still, almost as though he was holding his breath. Then he turned away and started to pace in a slow circle. “Emotional blackmail. A cheap strategy.”

“Effective, too,” Felassan replied.

Solas shot him a brief glance. “She would disapprove of you using her feelings for you as a tool for manipulation.”

“Probably,” Felassan said. “Except she told me to use her feelings for me if you threatened me.”

Solas stopped, then cocked his head in a subtle gesture of rebuke. “You lured me here to taunt me, then? Another cheap strategy. How far you have fallen.”

His calm voice was slightly pointed. It was a subtle but clear insult at Felassan’s imperfect magical control, and despite himself, Felassan felt a pang of hurt. The Dread Wolf could be so petty sometimes. 

Felassan smiled as though the dig hadn’t hit him. “Do you never think of it?” he asked.

“Of what?”

“ _Arla’fen,_ ” Felassan said. “The nights we would spend dancing with spirits and drinking until the whole castle was spinning around us. The days we spent sneaking into the Evanuris’s houses to set our people free.”

Solas’s eyebrows rose very slightly. “Of course I think of it.”

“Do you not miss it?”

For a moment, Solas didn’t reply. Then, to Felassan’s surprise, a hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I certainly miss that fortified wine of Sylaise’s. I have found nothing of this time that quite compares.”

Felassan smiled as well. “I miss that wine, too. But that is not what I mean.” He tilted his head. “I mean the feeling of knowing without a doubt that what you’re doing is right.”

Solas’s tiny smile faded. He looked away, and they were both silent for a long moment.

This time, it was Solas who broke the silence. “You were there. You know the exact depths of the wreckage that I left in my wake. If that is insufficient to convince you of the necessity of the path I now walk, then there is no point in us speaking any further.”

His tone was distant and neutral. Felassan took a step toward him. “You once told Tamaris that pride is the corrupted face of wisdom.”

Solas went still at the sound of her name, and Felassan took advantage of his stillness to push his point. “Perhaps it’s time you took a different name,” he said. “There was once a time when you _were_ Fen’Harel: you were the Rebel Wolf carving away the power of the very gods that held our people down.” He took another step closer to Solas. “But you’re becoming the Dread Wolf now. You’re becoming what the Dalish fairy tales accuse you of being.” 

“I don’t expect their understanding or their forgiveness,” Solas said in a hard tone. “I know I will be a monster to them. But I expected better from you.”

“I was exactly what you always expected,” Felassan retorted. “I followed my judgment rather than blindly obeying your command. If blind obedience is what you wanted, then you should have kept the kossith after you saved them from Ghilan’nain instead of hiding them away in the north.”

Solas glared at him, and Felassan held his breath. Solas’s expression was a mask of cold fury, a hint of the sort of rage that had powered some of Fen’Harel’s more violent counterattacks against the Evanuris, and that look on his face instinctively raised Felassan’s pulse.

But Felassan held his ground. He steadily met Solas’s gaze despite his thrumming nerves, and eventually, the fury faded from Solas’s face, leaving only his customary melancholy behind.

He sighed and turned away. “Go back to her, Felassan. Make her happy for the time you have left.”

“You don’t think they can stop you,” Felassan said.

Solas turned back to him. “Neither do you,” he said. “Your time is limited, and you know it. We both know that is the real reason you were comfortable risking this meeting.”

Felassan gazed unblinkingly at him. Not very long ago, Solas would have been right. There had once been a time when Felassan believed wholeheartedly in the rightness of Solas’s vision of the world, and that Solas had the power to reshape the world to match that idyllic vision.

Now, Felassan knew differently. He knew more about this modern world, and he knew the people who lived in it: the multitude of short-lived, stubborn, passionate people who fought to build and create their own little cultures on every corner of the continent. He knew that love existed here just as much as it had in their own time, and that Tamaris’s love was just as gloriously sweet as any that existed in ancient Elvhenan. 

Most importantly, Felassan knew that Solas knew it too. And this knowledge — this weakness of Fen’Harel’s — could be exploited. 

Felassan didn’t say any of this, though. Information was power, after all, and information about a person’s most deeply denied feelings could be very powerful indeed.

He shrugged casually and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I have always enjoyed supporting the underdog. There was once a time when you did, too.”

Solas gave him a chiding look. “If you are reducing this down to a simple matter of underdog and overlord, then we truly have nothing further to say.”

“I guess not,” Felassan said lightly. 

Solas nodded once and looked away, but he didn’t move to leave. Another pregnant pause stretched between them, and Felassan waited curiously for Solas to speak. 

When he finally met Felassan’s gaze once more, his blue-grey eyes were more tragic than ever. “Tell her I am sorry,” he said softly.

Felassan ignored the instinctive twist of sympathy that his former friend’s misery triggered in his chest. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow. “You do know the word ‘sorry’ isn’t a panacea, don’t you? It doesn’t reshape reality just because you keep saying it.”

A hint of a smile touched Solas’s lips, but the smile held nothing but sadness. “Blunt,” he remarked. “She is rubbing off on you.”

_In more ways than one,_ Felassan thought. But saying something so provocative would be inviting Solas’s wrath for no good reason. 

Instead, he politely inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

“Please do,” Solas replied. Finally he turned away.

Felassan watched as the hem of his cloak fluttered with his receding steps. Before he could disappear into the hazy depths of the Fade, Felassan called out to him. “Solas.”

Solas turned. His eyebrows were lifted, and Felassan couldn’t blame him; this was the first time in centuries that Felassan had addressed him by his original name.

Felassan smiled faintly. “Let us know if you change your mind, won’t you? Otherwise, we’ll see you on the field of battle.”

Solas’s expression softened with pity. “For your sake, pray that you do not,” he said. He turned away once more, and a moment later, he was gone. 

Felassan released a long, slow breath, then closed his eyes. When he opened them once more, he was sitting cross-legged on the ground. The fire was a warm orange glow, and Tamaris was anxiously staring at his face. 

He smiled at her. “Well, he’s still a stubborn ass. That hasn’t changed.”

Tamaris let out a shaky exhale and covered her mouth. “Fuck,” she breathed. “For fuck’s sake.” She abruptly straddled his lap and hugged him hard, and Felassan laughed in surprise as she nearly knocked him backwards with her sudden embrace. 

He hastily caught himself on one hand and wrapped his other arm around her. “Easy, _avise._ I’m fine, I swear.”

She nodded and buried her face against his neck. She was trembling slightly, and Felassan slowly stroked her back and savoured the warmth of her body until her trembling stilled. 

She drew away to look at him, and her expression was curious now. “So what happened? Did he say anything useful?”

Felassan watched her face carefully as he replied. “He still loves you.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. Then she shrugged. “Well, that’s not very useful. Did he say anything else? Any hints about his plans, where he is right now?”

Felassan gazed fondly at her. Her dismissal of Fen’Harel’s love was both endearing and exhilarating: endearing because it meant she didn’t fully understand just how much Fen’Harel’s lingering feelings mattered and how they could be used against him. 

And exhilarating because it meant, without a shadow of doubt, that Tamaris was healed. 

He cradled her neck in his palm. “Come here and kiss me,” he murmured.

A faint smile curled her lips. “What about your conversation with Solas? I don’t want you to forget what he said.”

“The taste of your lips will help jog my memory,” he said.

She chuckled. The sound was a husky purr, and Felassan loved hearing it just as much as the first time she’d ever let out a rare but treasured laugh. 

She poked his chest. “You can’t keep saying that kissing you helps with everything.”

“Why not?” he said. “It’s been an effective excuse so far.”

She scoffed. “Are you trying to provoke me into _not_ kissing you?”

“As if you could resist,” he teased.

She barked out another husky laugh. “You’re so fucking smug. You know what, just for that, I won’t kiss you.” She started to push herself off of his lap, but before she could fully rise, he grabbed her by the waist. 

“Hey!” she protested, but she didn’t resist as Felassan pulled her down. He laid her back on the grass and stretched out over her, and she pushed at his shoulders — a feeble sort of push that made it clear she didn’t really want to get away. 

She haughtily lifted her chin. “I’m still not going to kiss you,” she said. 

He sighed wistfully as he settled himself between her legs. “So cruel. I suppose I’ll have to kiss _you_ instead.” He lowered his face to hers, and when she playfully turned her face away, he kissed her cheek. 

He kissed her cheekbone and her temple, then nibbled her ear until she was laughing. “Fine, fine, I’ll kiss you,” she chuckled. She cupped his face in her hands — one of metal and one of flesh and skin, and both of them perfect. 

She stroked his cheek. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” she scolded. 

Felassan admired her uninhibited smile and the way it reached all the way to her delicately tilted eyes. Then he dipped his head low and brushed his lips to hers. “Thank you, Tamaris,” he murmured. “I try my very hardest.” 

She huffed softly, then tilted her chin up to meet his lips, and Felassan eagerly gave himself over to the velvety plushness of her lips and the smooth silk of her tongue. Her fingers slid into his loosely bound hair to scrape lightly at his scalp, and when he grumbled with pleasure, she pulled him closer and kissed him more hungrily still. 

Under the wide open blanket of the star-sprinkled sky, Felassan and Tamaris kissed and shifted together in a slow undulation of bliss, and Felassan marvelled at the exquisite composition of this moment: the softness of Tamaris’s skin and the strength of her legs wrapping around his waist, the melody of her panting breaths and the embrium that scented her hair — all these pieces, these parts and sensations and feelings that collided to make the perfectly imperfect woman who was arching hedonistically into his arms. 

If Fen’Harel’s plans came to fruition, their time together would be bitterly short. But in moments like this, when he was wrapped in Tamaris’s affectionate embrace with the sweetness of her love filling his mouth, Felassan felt like time was slowing down and spinning out at a languorous pace, like delicate threads of silk that stretched into the distance farther than the eye could see. When Felassan was with Tamaris, he remembered what it felt like to be immortal. 

With Tamaris, he remembered the breathtaking infinity of forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last Elvhen phrase compiled from FenxShiral: _abelas’alas’en_ , which means ‘world sadness’. Inspired by the German word ‘weltschmerz’. In Solas’s words from another fic I wrote: “a deep and melancholy wish to see a world that’s different from the one in which you find yourself.”
> 
> And one last lore note: yes, I snuck in a reference there to the kossith, i.e. the race/culture that the qunari are descended from. I subscribe to the theory that Ghilan’nain created them, which I’ve seen in a few other places too. 
> 
> And here we are, my friends, at the end. 😭 To paraphrase from _Fight Club_ : you have all found me at a strange time in our lives. I know a number of you have seen yourselves in Tamaris, and truly, from the bottom of my heart, it has been my honour to write a character that resonates with you guys on such a personal level. I did not anticipate that this fic would be this long and in-depth, and I am thrilled that many of you guys seem to have found comfort in what basically ended up being a very long quarantine fic. 😂 Thank you all for being with these babes for almost 200k words of eating and talking and sex!
> 
> This is not the last I will write for Tamaris and Felassan. I’ve toyed with the idea of doing a couple of oneshots for them around the timeline of this fic, and I would love to see what I can do with Felamaris when DA4 comes out ~~in a million years~~. I'm also working on a modern AU fic soon with @elbenherzart (Professor Solas, anyone…?) called [_Inadvisable_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737966/chapters/65231236), and both Felassan and Abelas (as well as Solas!) have romance arcs in that story. If you’re interested — no pressure! — you can either [subscribe to my profile here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara) for updates, or you can [follow me on Dumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) where I cross-post all my shit. 
> 
> Until then, my dear friends, _dareth shiral_.  
> \- Love, from your friendly neighbourhood Pikapeppa xoxo ❤️


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